


Harry Potter and the Mask of Loki

by Marcus_S_Lazarus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Mask (1994)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 82,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23546404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marcus_S_Lazarus/pseuds/Marcus_S_Lazarus
Summary: When Harry finds a strange green mask in the trash, he has no idea how his possession of such a seemingly simple artefact will change his life in the days and battles to come...
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 7





	1. Finding the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, this was written and completed on other sites before "Deathly Hallows" was released, so any revelations from that book- the Hallows, Dumbledore's past, the true location of the Horcruxes, Snape's true allegiances- don't apply here

Staring around his room, Harry sighed again at the sight of the barren walls.

He couldn’t believe how long he’d had to stay up here. True, it was an improvement on his original cupboard- compared to his early years here, his last six or seven had actually been pretty good- but it still was never as comfortable as his room at Hogwarts had become.

And not just because he couldn’t see any of his friends; he was already eagerly awaiting their arrival tonight when the Weasleys came to take him to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and he knew very well why they had to leave him here until then.

It was just… even after seventeen years, he’d never really felt at _home_ here. Oh, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had his reasons for it; undergoing various levels of abuse from perpetual torment by Dudley to just being outright ignored (Although he preferred being ignored) didn’t exactly endear the place to him, after all.

He regretted every moment spent here, he felt more of a connection with the Weasleys than he’d ever felt with the Dursleys, and the Dursleys never even made so much as the slightest effort to remember his birthdays!

It wasn’t that he was _bitter_ about it or anything- after all, he hated _them_ just as much as they hated _him_.

He just wished, on some level, that things were a bit… a bit _better_ between him and the Dursleys. After all, no matter what else they’d done to him, they were still the only biological family he had left, and even if he felt closer to the Weasleys than he’d ever felt to them, he still wished he felt a bit closer to his mother’s sister…

If nothing else, he wouldn’t mind being able to ask them a bit more about his parents; Lupin was a good source, true, but he wasn’t available as often or as easily as the Dursleys were…

Groaning, Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed and, walking out of the door, headed for the stairs. He might as well get a bit of a walk around the place; after all, it _was_ the last chance he’d ever have. The Weasleys were coming for him tomorrow- his seventeenth birthday- and, after that, he was pretty sure he’d never be coming back here.

_Well, unless I want to get a bit of revenge_ , Harry mused to himself, smiling slightly, although it was only half-heartedly; as tempting an idea as it might have been to turn Dudley into a rat or something similar, he didn’t really _want_ to do it; how would that have made him any better than the Death Eaters?

* * *

  
As he wandered the streets, Harry tried to remember if he’d ever had any _genuinely_ happy memories here. OK, there had been when Ron, Fred and George rescued him in his second year, but that didn’t really count; then he’d been happy to _leave_ the place, not happy about _being_ here…

Idly, Harry kicked a can on the street in front of him; he didn’t want to think of the Weasleys right now, he’d have enough on his plate when he saw them tomorrow. It wasn’t that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing them all again; it was just that…

Harry sighed.

_She_ would be there.

Ginny Weasley.

The first girl he’d ever truly loved.

And, because of the prophecy- because he _had_ to kill Voldemort- he’d had to give her up.

_It was for her own good_ , he reminded himself. _I couldn’t let her put herself at risk… it’s bad enough having Ron and Hermione be prepared to follow me into the jaws of death…_

He smiled as a though occurred to him; _Besides, maybe it’d help them both realise their feelings for each other_.

Over the last month or so, he’d concluded that, overall, he wouldn’t really mind about seeing Hermione and Ron get together. Somehow, he got the impression they’d always manage to get along, even if they _did_ argue more than anyone else he’d ever known; after all, didn’t all good couples have a few disputes?

He sighed, kicking the can again, this time down a back alleyway.

_Why can’t things_ ever _be easy for me…_? he asked himself, as he walked into the alley, trying to keep his mind off the fact that, the last time he’d entered an alleyway in Privet Drive, he’d ended up attacked by Dementors and nearly getting expelled from Hogwarts by the Ministry; memories of dark moments from his past _weren’t_ what he was here to think about right now.

Looking around for the can, he saw it…

And, to his surprise, he also saw a piece of shaped green wood, sticking out from underneath what looked like an old bunch of newspapers.

“What the…?” Harry asked himself, crouching down on his knees and reaching out to brush the newspaper off and pick up the wood.

As it came clear of the rubbish, he realised that the piece of wood was an old green mask, the paint chipped in some places. It gave the impression of once having been a vibrant green in colour, baring the metallic bar that ran down the centre of the forehead and terminated where the nose would have been on a human face, but over time the paint had faded to a far darker green in most places, with only a few small flecks of the original colouring left to tell of its past appearance. It had eerie empty eyeholes, and, although it wasn’t immediately apparent, the mouth was shaped in a small, puckish grin as though it were enjoying a secret joke.

Staring at it, Harry couldn’t help but wonder at several things. What was it doing here? Why had anyone thrown it out?

And- Harry blinked in surprise as he turned the mask around so that it was in the position it would be if he wanted to put it on- why did he feel as though he should keep this…

He shook his head. He didn’t have time to worry about a strange mask right now; he had to get back to Privet Drive and find somewhere to put this before he had to go. Fred and George were going to be picking him up at eight tomorrow, according to the letter Ron had sent him, and he wanted to be ready for them.

He had tons of stuff to pack before the Weasleys came to pick him his, and he _still_ hadn’t even managed to get started yet…

Still, as he left the alleyway that day, gripping his newly acquired mask by the eyeholes, he couldn’t have known what fate awaited him because of that so-called ‘piece of wood’…


	2. Departures, Arrivals and Creation

The next morning, Harry was sitting around in his room, his bags packed, Hedwig in her cage, his wand tucked into his sleeve, and that strange mask hidden under a few shirts in the top part of his larger bag. He couldn’t explain quite _why_ he was so curious about such a simple-looking object, but something about it seemed to tell him that it was far more than it seemed…

And not in the sense that Riddle’s diary was more than it seemed at first; whatever was unusual about this mask, Harry could sense that it wasn’t _evil_. Strange, definitely, but he couldn’t sense anything specifically _dark_ about it…

Besides, if nothing else, it would make a more pleasant memory of his last day at Privet Drive than anything else he might find. He still hadn’t decided what exactly he’d _do_ with it- after all, it wasn’t like he could actually _wear_ the thing, it didn’t even have a string to hold it onto his face- but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.Maybe he could find some way to balance it on the wall of his room or something…

The doorbell rang, and Harry chuckled slightly as he heard Uncle Vernon walk towards the door, open it…

“Ah, hello, you’re the fat old git who tried to keep Harry locked up six years ago, aren’t you?” a voice said, sounding as happy and flippant as the twins ever did. “Well, look, we’re here to pick him up, so could you just let him know we’re here and we’ll be out of your hair?”

“Or what you’ve got left of it,” a second voice added. Harry smiled as he heard Uncle Vernon start to stutter in what was probably rage, but undoubtedly was only succeeding in making him look like a human kettle put out to boil.

At least, that was what they always seemed like to Harry these days; somehow, in recent times, Uncle Vernon’s temper tantrums, which had so terrified the young Harry who knew nothing about his true origins, were now hardly worth even paying attention to.

Harry smiled at the thought. Whatever other traumatic experiences his time at Hogwarts may have caused- the loss of Sirius and Dumbledore, nearly losing Ginny in second year, facing Voldemort in a duel in fourth year- it had at least helped him get over his childhood fears. He wouldn’t pretend to be an expert psychologist, but he’d heard enough in his life to know that it was the longest- standing fears that could be the worst; if that was accurate, having gotten over his fear of the Dursleys _now_ , he was quietly confident he could overcome any other fears he might develop.

_After all, what could be worse than Voldemort…?_ a quiet part of his mind said mockingly to himself. Harry, however, shook it off; he wasn’t ready to start thinking about that… that _bastard_ son of a bitch… just yet. He’d go to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, say goodbye to everyone, and _then_ set off to find the Horcruxes…

Before his thoughts could progress any further, his door opened, and Fred and George came in, grinning widely as Uncle Vernon apparently still stuttered in rage.

“Hi Harry,” Fred smiled, looking at his old friend before looking around the room. “Man, they haven’t changed this place that much, have they?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have, would it?” Harry pointed out, as he swung off his bed and grabbed Hedwig’s cage. “I mean, I’m never really allowed to buy anything that they’d approve of; I tend to keep anything new secret from them.”

“Fair enough,” George said, smiling as he reached over and picked up Harry’s trunk, Fred grabbing the other one while Harry picked up his last possession- his Firebolt- and began to walk down the stairs.

As he reached the bottom, Harry glanced off to one side and saw the Dursleys, just sitting on the sofa in the main living-room, resolutely watching the news on the television; evidently, they were trying to act as though things were the way they’d have been if Harry had never been in the house, now that he was leaving for the last time.

Harry sighed.

He might as well get this over with.

“Could you hold these for a moment?” he asked George, passing him the cage and the Firebolt. “I’d just like to say something.”

George, somehow sensing that this was something Harry wanted to do himself, just nodded, and, taking the broom and cage, walked out of the house with George.

Harry, swallowing slightly, turned towards the living room and walked into it, not surprised when none of the Dursleys turned to look at him.

“Well… I’ll be going, then,” he said, after giving them a couple of seconds to respond to his presence of their own accord.

Nothing happened, so he went on.

“Look…” he sighed, looking around at them all. “I acknowledge that we’ve never seen eye-to-eye. And I know that- given a choice- I wouldn’t have chosen you as my guardians. But, well…”

He sighed. “Look; if you ever need me, just… just place an ad in a paper or something, OK? I’ll be keeping in touch with Muggle news anyway.”

After a couple of seconds of waiting for a reply- which, of course, he didn’t get- Harry sighed, turned around, and walked out of the house that had for so long been his home.

And, despite what he’d just said to them, he knew that it was for good.

* * *

  
“Done?” Fred asked, as Harry joined the two of them outside Privet Drive.

“Yeah…” Harry sighed, taking back Hedwig and the Firebolt before looking over at Fred inquiringly. “How are we getting there?”

“Side-Along Apparration for you, unfortunately,” Fred sighed, as he took Harry’s arm in his left hand, George grabbing the right as Harry grabbed the broom and cage tightly in his hands. “You still don’t have your licence just yet, and, well, it was the easiest option; the hotel where everyone’s staying for the wedding’s almost totally booked, and with all the rented cars from Gringotts or whatever, there’s not even enough space to land a broom outside anymore.”

“Fleur’s family’s helping cover the cost of renting the venue,” George said, off Harry’s barely-contained confused expression. “Anyway, best be off.”

There was a brief moment of disorientation as Harry felt himself whipped through whatever it was he entered when he Apparrated, and then…

* * *

  
Then they were standing just outside the door of a large hotel, some of the pillars in front of it at a slightly odd angle, and looking to be about as high as Gringotts Bank had seemed the first time Harry had seen it.

“Wow…” Harry said, staring up at the building. He looked over at Fred and George. “And this is _all_ hired for the wedding?”

“Yep,” Fred smiled. “Believe me, whatever else you can say about that Fleur girl, you can’t say she was poor- or did you think a Veela would marry a wizard just for love?”

“That’s the thing about Veela as a species, you see,” George said, as the three of them headed into the hotel. “Remarkably shallow- we’ve got your key, no need to worry,” he added, as Harry started to walk towards the check-in desk.

“The wedding ceremony’s at seven tonight- dress robes only- in a church a bit down the road- to be attended only by immediate family and close friends- and then we’re all meeting in the main hall here for the party. Charlie, Ron and us’ll be acting as… what’s the Muggle term for doorman in these situations?”

“Um… ‘bouncers’?” Harry inquired.

“Yeah, thought it was something like that,” Fred smiled. “Anyway, we’ll be making sure nobody gets in without an invitation; which reminds me, you’ll need this,” he added, passing Harry a few pieces of paper. To Harry’s surprise, the papers were all blank; an elaborate red outline was the only remarkable thing about them.

“Magical,” George explained, in response to Harry’s confused expression. “The invitations are charmed to prevent anyone holding them who didn’t acquire them freely from another person; if someone acquired one under duress, or stole them, the red bits turn black.”

“A little trick they’ve come up with at Gringotts,” Fred explained. “Helps ensure money doesn’t get nicked; they’re using it on some of the larger deposits in their vaults, but Bill knows the guy who came up with it, and was able to persuade him to let us use it for the invitations; they’ve also got another feature that lets us confirm whether or not they’re a fake.”

“Anyway, we’ve got to get going; all kinds of little details left to be sorted out before the wedding,” George smiled, as they put down Harry’s cases and indicated a large array of items in various cubby-holes in front of him.

“Miniature Portkeys,” Fred explained, noting Harry’s momentary confusion. “They’re only for entry and departure of the room for guests that have too much luggage on them; after all, it’s asking a bit much for _anyone_ to lug so much stuff up all these stairs, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess…” Harry commented, as he checked his key- Room Ninety-Four- reached out for the cubby hole in question- containing an odd model of something that Harry couldn’t quite recognize, but appeared to be some sort of baby dragon- took the object in his hand…

* * *

  
And found himself standing in the middle of a room with two beds in it.

“ _Harry_!” an excited voice said, and Harry suddenly found himself with a brown-haired girl hugging him, while a red-haired boy looked on with what seemed to Harry to be a brief (More instinctive than anything else) flicker of jealousy before the girl parted from Harry.

“Hi Ron; Hermione,” Harry said, smiling at the two of them. “How’s things been?”

“Oh, better than what you’d expect in war time,” Ron said, shrugging in a manner that almost succeeded at being offhand. “Since the Hogwarts attack, the Death Eaters have all been fairly quiet, but we still aren’t any further along with figuring out where the Horcruxes might be; Hermione and I’ve been working on ideas since she got here yesterday, and we still haven’t worked out how to find them.”

Harry shrugged dismissively. “We’ll figure something out when the time comes,” he said. “Right now, all we need to worry about is relaxing at this wedding, and we’ll take what else comes at us when it comes.”

He looked over at Ron. “Um… we’re not expected to do anything in the ceremony, are we?”

“Nah, no worries there, mate,” Ron smiled. “It’s only Gabrielle and Ginny who _have_ to do anything; the position of Best Man seems to be changing constantly- last time I checked, Charlie, Lupin, Kingsley and Fred and George had all been considered for it.”

“Fred _and_ George?” Hermione asked, looking at Ron curiously.

“Bit before you arrived,” Ron explained. “Bill contemplated asking them, but thought it wouldn’t quite work; for the twins, you get one of them, you get both.”

“Ah well,” Harry said, smiling slightly at Ron and Hermione before he glanced at his watch; still at least a couple of hours before any of them- even Hermione, based on how long she wanted to take at the Yule Ball- needed to start getting ready. “Can I check out what you’ve got so far?”

* * *

  
A few hours later, Harry and Ron had shrugged themselves into their dress robes- Ron’s new ones being a dark blue that somehow managed to go rather well with his hair, while Harry’s were still the green ones he’d worn to the Yule Ball, treated with a little charm he’d learned a while back to increase their size. He knew it was a bit excessive, but he rather liked the robes, and hadn’t wanted to wear them only the once.

Hermione had left for her room- Room Seventy-Two, apparently- after nearly an hour’s worth of detective work had failed to turn up anything helpful towards locating the last two (Or three- who was to say R.A.B., whoever he or she was, had succeeded in destroying the one in the locket?) Horcruxes, arranging to meet them before they went down for the ceremony.

“So,” Harry said, looking over inquiringly at Ron, “will you be asking Hermione, then?”

“What?” Ron asked, looking over at Harry.

“You know, asking her to dance?” Harry asked, raising an inquiring eyebrow.Ron blinked, then blushed furiously and turned away. “Don’t think so, really,” he said dismissively. “Anyway, why should I?”

“Oh, come _on_ , Ron, you’re as bad as I was at not seeing a good thing when it was right in front of me!” Harry smiled, trying not to think specifically about _who_ that ‘good thing’ had been…

“Look,” he said, placing a companionable arm around Ron’s shoulders, “you know Hermione’s like a sister to me, right?”

“Um… yeah…” Ron said, looking at Harry curiously.

“Well, since you were good enough to let me off for most of the summer term,” Harry said, blinking briefly to hold back a tear before continuing, “you can consider it a given to do what you want regarding Hermione.”

He pulled back and looked Ron in the eyes as he spoke. “Just _do_ something about it, you moron; got that?”

Ron blinked in surprise at that, but then sighed and nodded.

“All right,” he said, as the two of them stood up, Harry checking the sleeves of his robes while Ron (Once again) made sure that he hadn’t missed something embarrassing about his robes; his robes at the Yule Ball had left him a bit paranoid about clothing for important functions. “Let’s-”

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione’s voice said “Hello?” from the other side.

“-go,” Ron said, his voice suddenly a lot lower as he looked over at Harry in a panic.

Harry held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Ron, before you get started, you look fine, Hermione will forgive any little mistakes you make while dancing, and you _are_ doing what I told you if I have to put you under the Imperius Curse to make you ask her, got that?”

Ron nodded dumbly, and, smiling, Harry walked over to the door and opened it, smiling slightly at Hermione as she walked into the room.

He couldn’t deny that the effect on her was stunning; like the Yule Ball, she had straightened out her hair, but there the similarities ended. On this occasion, her hair was tied back in a ponytail that gave her a very professional yet sexy appearance, while her robes were a shade of lavender that accentuated everything that should be while still being tasteful.

Ron’s eyes widened as he saw Hermione; evidently, he liked what he saw. Harry was pleased to note that Hermione seemed to give Ron an approving glance herself; that might make things a bit easier later on.

“Well, now that we’re all here, shall we go?” he asked, offering Hermione his right arm, which she hooked around her left before taking Ron’s left arm in her right, as the three of them began to walk towards the stairs.

* * *

  
About an hour later, Harry was sitting on the side of the main hall, casually sipping at a Butterbeer with Ron and Hermione. The wedding had been a beautiful ceremony, he wouldn’t deny that, but, quite frankly, he was grateful to get out of the church; he always felt awkward just sitting around anywhere unless he was _doing_ something there…

Then again, Harry wasn’t really enjoying himself here either; he’d never been much of a dancer, having never been invited to birthday parties of any kind when he lived with the Dursleys, and he’d never had the chance to improve his abilities when he’d arrived at Hogwarts.

Of course, there’d been his dance with Pavarati Patil at the Yule Ball, but he didn’t really count that as a real _dance_ ; for one thing, he hadn’t been paying attention to what he was doing anyway.

Plus, of course, the only girl he _wanted_ to dance with was already dancing with someone; apparently, Ginny’s current dance partner, according to Ron, was an old friend of the twins who Harry didn’t recognize.

He acknowledged _why_ she was doing it, of course; he’d broken up with her, she had no reason to want to wait for him, if Voldemort thought she was only his friend’s sister she’d probably be safe…

_I just wish it didn’t_ hurt _so much_ … Harry thought to himself, as Hermione got up and headed off to the bathroom.

Sighing, Harry downed a last mouthful of Butterbeer, and then glanced over at Ron; if he was going to leave, he was at least going to make sure that _something_ got done…

“So, are you going to ask her when she gets back?” he asked his friend.

Ron, who’d been drinking what had to be his fifth pint of butterbeer, almost dropped it at that comment. Regaining his composure, he put the glass down and looked over at Harry in confusion.

“Ask her what?” he said. “If this is about the dancing thing, Harry, I’m not doing it; it’s not worth it.”

“What, getting a chance at the girl you’ve been interested in for the past few _years_ isn’t worth a risk?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. Then he shook his pityingly as he placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Look, Ron; either you go ahead and ask her _now_ , before someone else does, or you’ll regret it forever, OK?”

He sighed again as he glanced behind him to where Ginny was dancing, Ron following his gaze.

“I never told her enough,” Harry said, looking back at Ron after a few seconds. “If I get back- _IF_ ,” he repeated, before Ron could protest, “I’m going to tell her every day, because…”

He sighed. “Because, in my opinion, she’s perfect every day.”

He looked back in Ron’s direction. “Don’t make my choice, Ron; you’re not his prime target. _You_ don’t have to worry about him…”

He shoved Ron lightly on the shoulder, jerking his thumb back in the direction Hermione had gone. “Get going; if you don’t do it now, I’ll need to talk some _more_ sense into you later.”Ron looked like he was about to protest, but then he swallowed, nodded, got up, and walked off in the direction that Hermione had just gone in.

A few moments later, Harry smiled as he saw Ron and Hermione in the middle of the hall, engaged in a slow waltz. Hermione was looking away from Harry, but he gave Ron a grin and a congratulating thumbs-up, which Ron returned with a shy wave and a grin of his own.

For a few seconds, Harry just sat there, watching his two friends dance, but then he caught a flash of Ginny’s red hair out of the corner of his eye, and knew he couldn’t stay. Putting down his butterbeer, he got up and walked towards the door.

* * *

  
A minute or so later, Harry had collapsed on his bed in his room, still wearing his dress robes, and was staring vacantly up at the ceiling.

Hedwig hooted at him in an inquiring manner (At least, it seemed that way to Harry), and he looked over at his owl with a slight smile on his face.

“Life can never be easy, can it, Hedwig?” he asked, chuckling slightly as Hedwig ruffled her feathers in a manner that almost looked like she was shrugging her shoulders.

“God, just _once_ , I wish I could have a few hours of not being _me_ …” Harry sighed, as he stared around his room…

And his eyes fell on a corner of the mask he’d found yesterday, sticking out from under some shirts in his bag. He’d taken care when unpacking not to show the mask to Ron; for some reason, he wanted to keep it to himself for the moment.

Reaching over- the bag was only just beside his bed- Harry picked the mask up and stared at it for a few seconds, wondering what it was meant to represent.

“Too bad it isn’t a masquerade ball, huh?” Harry said to nobody in particular. “Maybe I could wear you and get a quick dance with Ginny.”

Smiling slightly at the thought, he turned the mask around, lowered it on to his face…

And suddenly he was sitting up, his head jolting sharply to the right as the mask literally… _fused_ to his face…

_And began to grow over the back of his head_!

“Nnnoooo…!” Harry cried out, his hands scrabbling at the back of his head, trying to stop the suddenly malleable wood from meting at the back as Hedwig hooted rapidly in panic. Just as the mask’s ends met, Harry suddenly found himself spinning rapidly, as though he’d gotten caught up in a small tornado…

* * *

  
And then, all of a sudden, Harry Potter, the ‘Boy Who Lived’, was gone. Standing in his place was a young man, about his height, with a totally green face and black hair that seemed to almost be made of plastic. The distinctive lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead was gone, and he had larger-than-normal teeth.

He was still wearing dress robes, but unlike the ones he’d been wearing mere moments ago, these ones were dark red, almost the colour of blood, with gold trim around the sleeves and hem, and a small pocket on the leg that could be used to hold his wand.

Harry/Mask looked down at himself, smiled, and glanced back at Hedwig.

“S-s-smokin’!” he grinned, giving the owl a wink before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph of Ginny Weasley. “Hold on, Sugah!” he said, affecting an accent that sounded like something from the Bronx. “Daddy’s got a sweet tooth tonight!”

He was just about to leave, when a thought occurred to him.

“Can’t get through the station without an invitation…” he mused to himself thoughtfully. Then he smiled, placed a finger against his nose, and spun around rapidly for a few seconds, pausing when he was dressed in a bright yellow zoot suit, a white shirt and a white tie with black spots on underneath the yellow coat. Checking rapidly through his pockets, discarding several other items in the process (Including, to the surprise some small part of Harry’s mind, a mousetrap, a bazooka, a false hand, and a photograph of Rose McGowan from _Charmed_ ) he pulled out the pieces of paper that Fred and George had given him, still red; evidently, he still counted as himself.

Looking over at his reflection in a nearby window, Harry/Mask grinned.

“Somebody _stop_ me!” he smiled…

Then he spun around rapidly, changed back into his dress robes when he stopped.

Giving himself the once-over one last time, Harry/Mask drew back his arms as though he was Will E. Coyote preparing to chase the RoadRunner, and dashed off down the stairs.


	3. Dance Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, ‘Crush (1980 Me)’ belongs to Darren Hayes

“Damnit…” Fred commented, as he glanced at his watch- still half an hour to go before the ‘bouncers’ changed shifts- and he glanced over at George. “Once and for all, you’re _sure_ you didn’t give someone the wrong time for the party?”

“Nope, sorry,” George said, looking back at Fred with a groan. “Honestly, why did we _ever_ agree to take door duty? I mean, who the hell gets to a party two whole _hours_ -”

There was a brief blur, and suddenly a strange figure was standing in front of them, dressed in dark red robes, with oddly plastic-looking hair, and…

Fred blinked in confusion.

Was he wearing a green mask of some kind, or was his head _meant_ to look like that?

And why did he look slightly familiar…

“How do, guys?” the man smiled at them, revealing teeth that were so large that Fred briefly wondered how he could even _talk_ with them in his mouth.

“Um… are you on the list?” George asked, looking at him inquiringly.

“Nnnnoooooooo…” the man said, drawing the word out as he shook his head once, before smiling at them and producing an invitation from his sleeve. “But I was given _this_ by a friend of mine; I understand it lets me in anyway. By the way, am I late?”

Fred took the offered ticket, and glanced at it. It was all right; evidently, whoever had given this guy a ticket had done so of their own free will.

And, since he and George were the only people who’d invite anyone who might be considered _too_ wild to a party like this, he was prepared to take a chance and let this guy in.

“Not too late to get in; there you go,” he said, reaching out and opening the door. “Just… don’t go too far and don’t do anything _too_ outlandish, OK?”

The man smiled. “I assure you, Fred m’boy, that I am the very _picture_ of discretion!” he said, patting Fred affectionately on the shoulder as he walked through the door.

It was only after Fred had shut the door that he realised he hadn’t told the man his name.

* * *

  
As the door opened, Ron and Hermione- who were still shyly dancing in the middle of the room- looked up curiously to see if Harry had come back, but turned away when they saw that the figure wasn’t anyone they recognized. They were just about to start dancing again, when suddenly they found themselves with a green-headed, red-robed figure pulling them apart, his head between theirs and a wide grin on his face as he looked at the two of them.

“How do?” he inquired casually.

“Wh-what?” Hermione said, looking over at the man in confusion. “Who are you?”

“Oh, how rude of me; I _do_ apologise,” the man said, smiling at them as he guided them over to a table and sat down in between them. “You can call me… uh… Ma _r_ k!” he said, looking around at them as he sat them down and raised a hand to beckon over one of the waiters. “Firewhiskey, please,” he said, before turning back to Ron and Hermione. “Mark… Tiller, yeah that’s it…” he said, before grinning at them again. “You’d be Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, yeah? Harry told me all about you-”

“Wait a minute; Harry?” Ron said, looking at ‘Mark’ in confusion. “Are you talking about Harry Potter?”

* * *

  
“Do you know another Harry?” ‘Mark’ smiled, looking over at Ron with a grin on his face, while inwardly whatever part of Harry that was left was trying to come up with a decent cover story; why would he _not_ have mentioned ‘Mark’ to Ron and Hermione, and where could they have met that meant that Ron and Hermione _wouldn’t_ know him, but Harry would…

Then it hit him. It was a bit of a long shot, he had to admit, but at least it might help him provide a credible explanation for the moment.

“I met him in Diagon Alley a few years back,” ‘Mark’ said, looking casual despite his current fears that his story would be seen through. “I’m mostly privately tutored by my parents- they don’t believe in public education, but they often have to help me pick up some equipment for the lessons; Harry and I run into each other now and again when we’re down there, and we’ve always hit it off rather well.”

“And he never mentioned you?” Hermione asked, looking at ‘Mark’ curiously.

* * *

  
“Well, I always liked my privacy,” Mark said, shrugging. “You know, the mask makes it all a bit awkward; I don’t like the questions it- _whoa MAMA_!” he cried out, as his eyes fell on the pale gold–clad form of Ginny Weasley, currently dancing with Neville Longbottom, although she was still wincing with pain when he trod on her feet. As he took in the sight, Mark’s jaw dropped down onto the table in front of him, his tongue rolling out even further, and his eyes literally popped out of his head, in a manner that gave him the appearance of a lovesick cartoon.

“O-kaaaaaaaaaaaay…” Ron said, looking at the suddenly changed form of Mark in confusion before looking over at Hermione. “Is there any precedence of something like that happening to somebody?”

“Not that I can think of…” Hermione said, as Mark shook his head and it returned to normal, apparently unconcerned about explaining what had just happened.

Standing up, he casually dusted his hands and smiled at the two of them.

“Excuse me, but a beautiful woman requires my attention,” he said, grinning, as he suddenly drew his arms back and ran off towards Ginny.

One glance at Hermione told Ron that she was as confused as he was; how could this guy _move_ that fast?

* * *

  
Ginny was just starting to wonder how she could let Neville down without hurting his feelings (And she still wasn’t clear on _who_ had invited him, although she was guessing Ron out of a lack of anyone else to give an invitation to), when she felt a polite tap on her shoulder.

“Pardon me, m’dears, but I’m cutting in,” a voice said. Pulling away from Neville, Ginny turned to look at the source of the voice…

And stared in surprise at the man standing there. The red robes he was wearing managed to make him look both smart and dangerous, and- weird though it was- his green head, with its almost fake-looking hair was, in a way, rather charming…

Realising what he’d just said, Ginny smiled.

“Oh… sure,” she said, glancing back at Neville as she took the stranger’s hand. “Sorry, Neville, but-”

“It’s cool, Ginny; I understand,” Neville said, raising his hand reassuringly. “I’m not much a dancer anyway; might as well give other people a shot at having you for a partner.”

“Thanks, Neville,” the stranger said, smiling briefly at him before taking Ginny in his arms and beginning a new waltz.

“Um… who are you?” Ginny asked, looking at him curiously as he looked around himself with an almost serene expression. “And how’d you know who Neville was?”

“Oh, sorry; call me Mark Tiller,” the man said, smiling at her, showing abnormally large white teeth as he did so. “I’m a friend of Harry’s; we’ve met each other around Diagon Alley a few times in the past, and he sent me an invitation to come here.” He smiled down at Ginny. “And I have to say, I’m glad I did; Harry _definitely_ wasn’t exaggerating when he said you were beautiful.”

Ginny felt her cheeks flush, and she looked away from Mark’s face, focusing instead on his shoulder.

“You’re just saying that,” she said.

“No, I’m serious, he really _did_ say that you were beautiful; you’re pretty much all he talks about when we meet these days,” Mark assured her, smiling slightly at her shyness. “Although, I have to admit, he _was_ understating it a bit; probably couldn’t find the words to give you justice.”

As Ginny turned around, trying to find something else to look at so Mark wouldn’t see her blushing, Mark rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Sorry, but this music is _not_ really doing it for me,” he said, indicating the wizard ‘DJ’. “Excuse me, please; I have something to do.”

And, before Ginny had even realised he’d gone, Mark was standing beside the DJ, grinning widely at everyone before him…

And, all of a sudden, wearing a yellow suit with a wide-brimmed, identically coloured hat, a white shirt, and a white tie with black spots.

_What the_ … Ginny asked herself, as she stared at her partner in shock.

* * *

  
_What the hell am I_ doing? some small part of Harry’s mind- the part that _wasn’t_ fully engrossed with the powers Mark seems to possess- asked the rest of him as he took in his current situation. He could barely dance to save his life, and here he was, preparing to put on a _song_ to dance to…

And with _Ginny_! Bad enough he couldn’t be with her, but he now had to _embarrass_ himself in front of her…

But, evidently, the rest of him knew what he was doing; as Mark smiled, a spotlight suddenly appeared on him, and he grinned widely as everyone in the hall turned to look at him.

“Let’s _rock_ this joint!” he said, grinning at them again.

Then he raised his arm, clicked his fingers, and suddenly new music was blaring from the speakers. Everyone else just looked at each other, trying to figure out what had just happened, but Mark, as confident as ever, leapt back onto the hall floor, spun briefly to ‘change’ back into his dress robes, and then slid (Literally _slid_ ) across the floor to Ginny, just in time to begin to dance again.

* * *

  
_Cyndi Lauper_ (Mark’s left hand clasps Ginny’s right)  
 _Jackson_ (Swap which hands are being held)  
 _Simon Le Bon_ (Swap back)  
 _I put Eurythmics On_ (Mark holds out his left arm, Ginny clasping his hand)  
 _Poppin' and Lockin' in the U.S.A_ (Mark bends down and under the arm, popping up on the other side)  
 _Day Glo sweater tied around my neck_ (Mark lets Ginny go and spins once before grabbing her hand again)  
 _Studded Denim  
Big Hair  
Acid Wash  
Rubik's Cube  
My Boom Box _(Continually exchange hands through the course of the last few lyrics)

 _You know it's alright_ (Mark pulls Ginny close to him and stares directly into her eyes)  
 _I promise you tonight_ (He grins at her)  
 _All you gotta do_ (He moves as though picking something out of the air)  
 _Is choose Life_ (He holds a closed fist before her, indicates it with his other hand, and then steps back, now standing in the middle of the floor)

_Got a little crush_ (Fists clasped before his face, almost like he’s begging)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (Holds out one hand, palm wide, as though asking someone to grab it)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (Reels sharply back, like Neo dodging a bullet in _The Matrix_ (Except he actually _bends_ a full ninety degrees), before standing up)  
 _Got a little crush_ (Spins around, arms out wide)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (Stops spinning, but sweeps one arm off to the side)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (Both his hands swoosh past his face, as though miming wind in his face)

_Frosted Lipstick_ (He steps back up to Ginny, clasping her hands again)  
 _Parachute Pants  
Doc Martins  
Dead Can Dance  
Culture Club  
The Go Go's  
Pretty In Pink  
PacMan Asteroids  
Miami Vice  
Too early for Vanilla Ice  
Crimpin'  
The Poodle Perm And Blond Highlights_ (Mark spins Ginny around a few times during the course of this verse, pulls back at the end to smile at her through her dizziness) _You know it's alright_ (Moves in closer, raising his right arm)  
 _I promise you tonight_ (Pulls a rose out of his sleeve)  
 _All you gotta say is_ (Ginny takes the rose as Mark smiles at her)  
 _Have a nice day_ (Winks and then pulls back into the middle of the dance floor)

_Got a little crush_ (Holds out one hand like a theatrical agent introducing an act, and a spotlight suddenly appears on Ron and Hermione)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (Smiles at them as Ron blushes and Hermione looks away)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (Mark appears beside them, grabs their hands, and spins them around before they’re face-to-face once again)  
 _Got a little crush_ (He’s facing Ginny again)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (Shakes his head emphatically as he points one hand at Ginny)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (He leaps into the air, spinning rapidly in a circle before he lands on his feet in front of her)  
 _Got a little crush_ (He holds out another hand to indicate Bill and Fleur, also in a spotlight)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (He appears between them, grinning as he pats them both on the back)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (Spins them around once before heading over to Ron and Hermione)  
 _Got a little crush_ (He pushes them closer to each other)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (He pats Ron reassuringly on the back as he jerks a thumb at Hermione)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (He’s back in front of Ginny, holding her hands as he prepares to dance)

As the music played, Mark and Ginny span briefly around the dance floor, hands joined in the centre of their makeshift circle, before Mark stopped and, grinning, pulled Ginny closer to him, her back to his front. Ginny, caught up in the moment, shimmed down Mark’s body and back up before she realised what she was doing, but before she even had time to be shocked, Mark had already taken her hands again and bent forward. He briefly smiled at her as he held her just barely above the floor, before he pulled back and let go, staring at her throughout as the music slowed slightly and he stepped back from his partner.

_I wish that I could be eleven again_ (Mark stands in the middle of the hall again, looking forlornly at Ginny as he mouths alone with the song)  
 _That E.T was my friend_ (He pulls a poster of E.T. out of his pocket and discards it off to one side, where Charlie grabs it)  
 _You know that life was so simple then_ (Marks pulls out a small blackboard and scrawls ‘2 + 2 4’ on it, before tossing it across to Gabrielle Delacour)  
 _Times have changed_ (An alarm clock pops out of his pocket and changes into a digital watch before it clamps onto Ron’s wrist)  
 _Never be the same_ (Mark shakes his head, a slightly saddened expression on his face)  
 _The memory remains_ (He taps his head)  
 _And the melody inside my heart_ (A slight smile now on his face, Mark holds one hand over his heart as he reaches out to Ginny)

_You know it's alright_ (Ginny takes his hand and hold it up to her face, Mark gently caressing her cheek)  
 _No matter how it goes_ (Mark and Ginny lock eyes and smile at each other)  
 _All you gotta do is just say no_ (Mark raises an eyebrow, and Ginny smiles as she pulls him towards her)

_Got a little crush_ (The two of them spin as Mark grins widely at Ginny)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (Mark and Ginny smile at each other)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (Ginny spins around so that her back is to Mark’s front and the two of them bend back like Mark did earlier before standing back up)  
 _Got a little crush_ (Mark grabs Ginny by the waist, and, smiling at her, tosses her up into the air)  
 _I just can't get enough of that stuff_ (Holding out his arms, Mark catches Ginny)  
 _It's such a rush (1980 Me)_ (As the music fades, Mark leans over and kisses Ginny on the lips)

* * *

  
As the music faded, Mark pulled back slightly to smile at Ginny. Ginny, although still dazed and more than slightly exhausted by all the dancing she’d just done, smiled weakly back at him.But still… as she shakily got back onto her feet, looking curiously at Mark, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his kiss had been somewhat familiar… 


	4. Departures and a History Lesson

Blinking his eyes open, Harry realized that his glasses must have fallen off during the night; he couldn’t _quite_ see anything right now. He was about to get up and start feeling around for them, when he realized three things.

Firstly, that there was something clutched in his right hand.

Secondly, that he was in his dress robes rather than his pyjamas.

And thirdly, the thing in his hand was the wooden mask he’d found in Privet Drive the day before he’d left.

Sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Harry stared at the mask for a few seconds before, finally, he smiled slightly.

“It was a dream,” he said to himself. “It was all a dream…”

Chuckling, he raised the mask up to his face and placed it on, and wasn’t surprised when nothing happened.

“I have _got_ to get a psychiatric evaluation when I have the time…” he thought to himself, as he tossed the mask onto his bed, got up, opened the door…

And discovered Ron slumped outside the room, looking at least half-drunk, with more than a few faint traces of lipstick on his face, looking up at Harry in a manner that suggested he’d only just woken up.

“‘arry!” Ron smiled, tipping his head and winking at Harry as he pointed an index finger at his friend. “Where _‘ere_ you last night!”

“Asleep,” Harry replied simply, as he grabbed Ron’s hand and hauled him up onto his feet, giving his friend the once-over before looking Ron in the eyes. “Seriously, though, what happened to you? Did someone dunk you in the Firewhiskey bowl or something?”

“Nah… be’er!” Ron smiled, looking at Harry. “Got knackered out dancing with all that moosic that Mark guy put on, and, well, turns out Firewhiskey works be’er when you’re knackered…”

Harry blinked in surprise.

He did _not_ just hear that…

“M… Mark?” he asked, staring at Ron in surprise.

“Yeah, y’know, tha’ friend o’ yours you invited?” Ron asked, smiling up at Harry as his eyes rolled around the room as though he was trying to find something to focus on. “Green ‘ead, plastic-looking ‘air… yellow… yellow…”

“Suit?” Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper as he looked back at the wooden mask lying on his bed. “No… no… that’s _impossible_ …”

“Harry, th’t you _missed_ it is impossibibible; Mark was _there_!” Ron smiled, as he collapsed on the bed, still looking at his friend as though he wasn’t quite sure whether Harry was there or not. “O’ course, I shtill don’t get how he could _do_ all that stuuuuff….”

Then Ron collapsed onto the bed, out cold, and began to snore.

Harry sighed in relief; at least Ron wouldn’t be asking him any awkward questions now. He had to find out what the mask was, how it could let him do all the stuff he’d done as Mark…

_And then what?_ Harry asked himself. _What do I do once I know what I might be capable of?_

He shook his head; he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

Pulling out his trunk, he pulled out a pair of jeans and a blue-and-cream checked shirt, taking off his dress robes and putting the casual clothes on instead. He then put back anything else he’d taken out of the trunk in his time in the hotel- it wasn’t much; only his pyjamas, to be honest-, but also took out his invisibility cloak and his wand, just in case he needed them, the mask clutched in his left hand as he slid his wand up his sleeve.

Pulling the cloak on, he headed out of the room, shutting the door as he left…

And then froze and backed against the wall as he heard someone coming up the stairs towards him.

“…sorry, Ginny, but I can’t think of _anything_ that would account for Mark’s abilities,” Hermione’s voice said, as she and Ginny walked off the stairs and began to head towards their rooms, just down the corridor.

“You’re sure?” Ginny asked, looking over at the other girl. Evidently, after Mark had left, the party had still gone on for a bit; according to the clock on the wall opposite, Harry had only been asleep for an hour or so after leaving the party…

_Wait a minute; Ginny’s asking about_ Mark? Harry thought to himself, looking at the beautiful redhead in surprise.

He smiled. _Must have made quite an impression…_

“I mean, well, if he shows up again, I wouldn’t mind knowing a bit more about him, is all…” Ginny explained, sounding a little bashful at her earlier comment.

Smiling slightly- an almost sad little smile, Harry noted-, Hermione patted the younger girl on the shoulder. “You know, you really should loosen up a bit; Harry wanted you to be _safe_ and _happy_ when he left you. I’m sure he’ll understand if you like Mark.”

“Yeah, I know…” Ginny said, her shoulders slumping slightly. “But, y’know, I guess a part of me sees it as… well, betraying Harry…”

Then they turned around another corner, and Harry couldn’t hear either of them.

He swallowed.

_Well, that adds a new dynamic to this mask_ , he thought to himself, as he glanced down at the piece of wood in his hand.

Then a thought occurred to him. If Ginny really _was_ interested in Mark _that_ way…

He shook it off. No point getting his hopes up; he had to attend to business.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed and focused, hoping that his guess was correct about the limit of the wards, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting anywhere…

* * *

  
And then he opened his eyes, and he was standing on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village, the sun already starting to rise behind the large form of Hogwarts, visible at the tope of the hills only a short walk away.

Shrugging off the Invisibility Cloak and checking over himself, Harry was relieved to see that everything essential still appeared to be where it should be; his left eyebrow felt a bit shorter, but that was about it.

“Wha’ the… ‘Arry?” a voice said from behind him.

“Hagrid!” Harry said, smiling as he turned around to face the half-giant gamekeeper who’d first introduced him to the magical world.

“What’re _you_ doing here?” Hagrid asked, looking at Harry in pleased surprise.

Then a thought seemed to occur to him. “Nothing’s…”

“No, everything’s fine,” Harry assured him, holding up one hand in a reassuring gesture; the other hand was tucked under his robe, hiding the mask from Hagrid. “It’s just that, well… I need to check up on something, and I need to ask one of the teachers to get an answer.”

“Ah,” Hagrid said, nodding as Harry spoke. “Which one?”

Harry sighed. “Unfortunately, the one I’ve spoken to the least in my time here; Professor Binns,” he said. Then he looked back at Hagrid. “I assume he stays here during the holidays?”

Hagrid nodded. “Yeah, he does,” he replied, rolling his eyes slightly as he spoke. “Binns never had much of a life even _before_ he died; didn’ change it afterwards either.”

“Right then,” Harry said, looking over at the castle before glancing back at Hagrid. “Could you help me get in?”

“‘Course,” Hagrid said, reading into his pocket and pulling out a massive set of keys. “Nothing’s been decided yet about ‘Ogwarts, Harry; we can still get in and out easily enough.”

He looked over at Harry curiously as the two of them started walking towards the castle.

“You _sure_ yer all right, Harry?” he asked. “You look a little… well, I dunno…”

“On edge?” Harry answered, smiling slightly. “Just… had a lot on my mind, I guess…”

“Not sure about your decision regardin’ Ginny?” Hagrid asked, smiling slightly at him.

Harry nearly stumbled.

“Wh… what?” he said, looking at Hagrid in confusion as he continued walking. “But… but how’d…”

“I know?” Hagrid asked, smiling. “Harry, ye may not have mentioned it to me, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t hear things.”

His smile faded, and he looked at Harry with a more serious expression. “Ye’re sure ye made the right call?”

Harry sighed.

“No, I’m not, to be honest,” he said, looking down at the ground in front of him as he spoke. “But, well, what else could I do? At least this way she’s safe… right?”

Hagrid didn’t answer.

But, as the two of them continued to walk towards Hogwarts, Harry knew Hagrid had a point.

_Had_ he made the right call leaving Ginny…?

He shook his head and glanced down again at the Mask clasped in his hand; if it turned out that the Mask could actually be used safely, maybe he’d be able to find a compromise for the situation he was in at the moment.

* * *

  
“Um, Professor Binns?” Harry said a few minutes later, he and Hagrid having split up after Hagrid had opened the doors to the castle, Hagrid claiming that he needed to attend to something in the grounds. Harry was pleased to find Professor Binns in his old classroom, apparently looking over old test papers, although what he did when he had to look at another one Harry didn’t know.

“Hmm?” Binns said, looking up at the voice. “Oh… yes… Perkins, wasn’t it?”

“Potter, Professor,” Harry said, as he reached into his robe and pulled out the mask. “I wondered if you could tell me anything about this?”

Binns looked at the mask for a moment, and then floated over to examine it more closely, briefly ducking through Harry’s arm to get a closer look at the back before pulling back to look at Harry again.

“An intriguing piece, Mr Presley,” he said, looking back at Harry. Harry didn’t bother correcting him; he wouldn’t be coming back to this class, after all. “I would put it as being fourth or fifth century Muggle Scandanavian, possibly made in tribute to one of the Norse night gods; the grin suggests Loki.”

“Loki?” Harry said, intrigued. “He was the god of mischief, wasn’t he?”

“Indeed,” Binns said, nodding at Harry’s memory, although his face suggested that he was highly sceptical about the whole thing; evidently, mythology was, to him, much the same as legend. “Supposedly, he caused so much trouble that Odin banished him from Valhalla forever. Having been captured while in the shape of a trout, Loki was turned back into his normal form and bound away in a distant cave, trapped under a snake as its venom dripped onto him forever. However, there are certain groups who believe, to this day, that Loki was not imprisoned, but actually merely banished to what the Vikings thought of as Midgard- our world- because of his creation of an artefact that Odin disapproved of greatly; an artefact known simply as ‘the Mask’.”

“The Mask?” Harry said, instantly intrigued; could this be what he was looking for? “What was that?”

“Loki’s main means of spreading mischief among the Muggles and wizards of the age, according to the tales,” Binns explained, as he drifted around the classroom as though he didn’t really care about what he was saying. “Supposedly, the Mask granted the wearer the power of Loki himself- shape-shifting, invulnerablility, the ability to create objects out of nothingness- but at the price of releasing the repressed side of their identities; what Muggle psychologists, I believe, refer to as the Id.”

He snorted slightly, as though to convey his contempt of the legend.

“Naturally, there are those who have spent years, if not decades, trying to find the Mask and harness its supposed powers,” he said, looking back at the piece of wood still held in Harry’s hand. “It has been officially lost for the past thousand years; there are rumours that some Vikings, scared of its power, sealed it away in a box and threw it into the ocean, but the truth behind the fate of the original Mask is a mystery.”

“I see…” Harry said, nodding thoughtfully as he looked at the Mask in his hands. “Well… thanks, Professor,” he said, as he got up and headed for the door. “You’ve been a great help.”


	5. The Next Step

A few minutes later, Harry found himself standing in the main entrance hall of Hogwarts, staring at the Mask in his hands, wondering what he should do next.

A mask that gave him the power of a God…

If _that_ didn’t give him the edge over Voldemort in a fight, what would?

Then his face fell as he remembered that, when he’d tried it on this morning, nothing had happened. Maybe the Mask was a strictly one-use-only artefact- you used it once and then couldn’t use it again- and he’d already wasted _his_ use of it last night…

Then he frowned as a though occurred to him. He hadn’t paid attention to _every_ little detail of Binns’ speech- he’d been more focusing on the points about what the Mask actually _did_ rather than how it had been _made_ \- but hadn’t Binns mentioned something about Loki being a Norse _night_ god? Maybe the Mask only worked at night…

_It makes as much sense as anything_ , Harry thought to himself, as he looked down at the Mask in his hands as he leaned back against a nearby wall to give himself a more comfortable position to think.

The question was, what would he do now? After all, with the power of a god, the task of destroying the remaining Horcruxes would probably be an easy one, but how should he actually _use_ it?

Should he tell the others about it…?

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, however, than Harry was shaking it off; it was too risky for anyone else to know about this Mask right now. If Voldemort discovered what it could do, he’d only be even more determined to target the others and use them to try and take the Mask for himself.

Besides, how would he explain having not told them who he really was at the party last night?

No, his best bet was to use the Mask in secret…

He sighed, as the next thought crossed his mind.

_And that means going it alone_.

He’d been prepared for that all along, of course- it _had_ been what he’d been originally planning, after all- but still… to have to leave the closest thing to a real family he’d ever had, even if only for a time…

It was still a bit of a blow. After all, he may have insisted they _not_ join him at the Dursleys’ for the month or so after Hogwarts had finished, but that was only because he didn’t want them to have to put up with his relatives unless absolutely necessary; he’d still been planning to search for the Horcruxes with them when it was needed…

But, with this new change in the situation, secrecy was ever more paramount.

He couldn’t risk it.

He smiled slightly as he looked down at the Mask in his hands; at least, with this, he probably wouldn’t need any help in tracking the Horcruxes down. After all, the power of a god against the power of a mere wizard? Not much of a contest, was it?

Then the smile faded, and he slipped the Mask back into his robes. Before he did anything, he just had one or two last bits of business to attend to…

* * *

  
“‘Arry?” Hagrid said, as he saw his friend standing in the Great Hall, as though thinking about something. He’d finished giving Dumbledore’s tomb its daily clean- he knew it was excessive, but Hagrid felt he owed that much to his old friend- and had come back just to see how Harry was getting on. “You alrigh’?”

“Mmm?” Harry said, looking over at Hagrid briefly before nodding. “Oh… yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

Then a thought occurred to him, and he looked at Hagrid curiously again. “Can I ask you something about your schooldays?”

Hagrid blinked in surprise.

He hadn’t been expecting _that_. Apart from the incidents in their second and fourth years, with the Chamber of Secrets and Rita Skeeter’s article, Harry and the others had never really expressed an interest in his past. Of course, he’d generally assumed that it was just because they could tell that it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss a great deal, and hadn’t really worried much about it, but to have Harry asking _now_ …

“Uh… sure,” he said, looking at his young friend curiously. “What d’ ye want ter know?”

Harry looked over at Hagrid, a slight edge of apprehension in his eyes.

“I’ll understand if you don’t know or don’t want to tell me…” he said, and then swallowed again. “But I need to know if you the location of the orphanage where Tom Marvolo Riddle grew up.”

Hagrid froze.

“Tom… Tom Riddle?” he said, looking at Harry in surprise and more than a slight degree of confusion. “‘Arry, why’d yer want ter know _that_? Don’t yer know…”

* * *

  
“What he became?” Harry asked, looking back at Hagrid quizzically. When Hagrid nodded, he continued. “Yeah, I know he went on to become Voldemort; that’s part of the reason I want to know. You see…”

He sighed, weighing up the consequences of his next words, before deciding he might as well say what he had to say; after all, Hagrid had a right to know the truth.

“Voldemort made some Horcruxes before he tried to kill me, and I think one of them might be hidden there,” he said.

Harry had done quite a bit of thinking over his time at the Dursleys, and had come to the conclusion that Voldemort must have hidden his other two Horcruxes (The locket having been moved and Nagini staying with him on a permanent basis) somewhere related to his childhood.

After all, the ring had been hidden away in the house where Voldemort’s mother had lived, and, before it had been moved by R.A.B., whoever he was, the locket had been kept in a cave where Voldemort had trapped some children when he was younger. Why should he have broken from tradition with his last two Horcruxes? If nothing else, concealing them in locations ‘important’ to him when he was younger would make it hard for anyone to find them unless they knew something about his past, and how many people even knew Voldemort’s real name?

“Hor… Horcruxes?” Hagrid said, staring at Harry in horror. “But… but they’re…”

“I know,” Harry said, swallowing slightly at the memory; even after over a month, it was still hard to forget the memories of that terrible night. “That’s what Dumbledore and I were doing the night he died; we were trying to track one of them down.”

He looked Hagrid in the eye again. “Can you tell me where the orphanage was? It’s the only place I can think of where he might have hidden another horcrux.”

Hagrid swallowed nervously, and then nodded.

* * *

  
Ron opened his eyes, sat sharply up, and then instantly collapsed to the ground as blinding pain tore briefly through his skull.

“Damn…” he muttered to himself, as he sat up again, this time a bit slower. “I have _got_ to watch how much I drink…”

He looked over at Harry’s bed…

And instantly sat up at the sight before him.

The bed was empty. It bore signs of having been slept in, true, but the person who had been sleeping in it was now conspicuous by his absence; even the trunk beside it had vanished!

“What the…?” Ron said, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and getting up to look at it better, trying desperately to ignore his already-receding headache. “What the hell…?”

Then his eyes fell on an envelope lying in the centre of the bed, with just three names on it.

_Ginny, Ron, and Hermione_.

Ron picked it up and headed for the door; the girls had to see this.

* * *

  
“Wait a minute; Harry’s _gone_?” Ginny said, staring at her brother incredulously. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“I mean he isn’t in his room, his stuff’s been taken away, there’s no sign of a struggle, and he left this note for us,” Ron said, indicating the envelope in his hands as he tried not to focus on the sight of Hermione in a dressing-gown; as nice as it was, they had more immediate things to focus on.

Taking the note from Ron, Ginny stared at it for a moment or two, and then indicated her bed.

“Shall we read it?” she asked, raising an enquiring eyebrow.

The other two nodded, and Ginny sat down on the bed and tore the letter open. As the other two sat down beside her, she began to read.

* * *

  
_Dear Ginny, Ron, and Hermione,_

_If you’re reading this, then you’ll probably be wondering where I am. I’d like to say that I’ll be fine, but, in all honesty, I can’t guarantee that I will be.  
_ _I’m going after the horcruxes on my own. Ginny, I’m sorry I never told you about them; I just didn’t want to ruin any moments that I shared with you by talking about something like them. Ask Ron and Hermione; they’ll tell you what I mean.  
_ _To Ron and Hermione, I know I agreed to go after them with you, but I can’t ask any of you to risk your lives for my sake; I’ve already lost my parents, my godfather, and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a grandfather because they were trying to protect me.  
_ _I can’t lose you three as well.  
_ _Ron, Hermione, I want you both to know that, to me, you shall always be the sister and brother I never had when I was growing up. You were there for me in a way that nobody was when I was a child, and I’m grateful for that.  
_ _And Ginny…  
_ _What can I say that would be adequate? You were the only girl I have ever loved; regardless of what people such as Rita Skeeter may say about me, I inherited my father’s taste for red-haired woman, and I fell for the most incredible one I have ever met.  
_ _Those few weeks I spent with you were the happiest of my life, and, if I come back, I just hope you’ll be prepared to accept me back…  
_ _But, in the meantime, do one thing for me; live your life. Have fun. Don’t spend your time pining for a man who may not make it.  
_ _I’ll come and see you all, if I can, but right now, I’m going after the first horcrux; if all goes well, I’ll find some way to let you know.  
_ _If you don’t hear from me within a week, then it’s up to you three to destroy them once and for all.  
_ _Sincerely,  
_ _Harry Potter._

* * *

  
Ginny stared over at Ron and Hermione, tears in the corner of her eyes as she looked at them.

“He… he didn’t tell me something?” she asked, looking at her brother and her friend as though seeking a denial.

When none came, she collapsed back onto the bed, rolled over onto her stomach, and began to cry.

“Um… Ginny?” Ron said, turning to look at his sister, placing a hand on her shoulder as he spoke. “What’s… er… wrong?”

“What do you _think_?” Ginny said, her voice slightly muffled by the bedsheets as she continued to cry. “He didn’t tell _me_ something, but he told you two? I was his bloody _girlfriend_ , for crying out loud; couldn’t he have been _honest_ with me if something was bothering him!”

“Ginny…” Hermione said, placing her own hand on Ginny’s other shoulder. “He didn’t _want_ to keep a secret from you; it was just that… well, he knew you still got uncomfortable talking about the diary incident directly… and this kind of relates to that…”

“Yeah, exactly,” Ron said, nodding at Hermione’s words as he looked down at his sister, her sobs becoming less loud as she began to calm down. “I mean, look, if you were him, you were dating someone, and you’d learned about something relating to the guy who’s been trying to kill ever since you met him, but you didn’t think it would have any affect on you and the person you were dating… would you have told them?”

He tightened his grip on Ginny’s shoulder as he spoke, trying to make sure she understood what he was telling her.

“He _did_ trust you, Gin,” he said to her. “He just didn’t want to spoil your time together by talking about… about V-Voldemort.”

A few more moments passed in silence; Ron wasn’t quite able to believe he’d just said Voldemort’s name, Hermione was surprised that Ron had said the name, and Ginny was just gradually trying to get her sobs under control.

Eventually, Ginny turned around to look back at Ron, and smiled.

“You got over it, then?” she said, smiling slightly even though her eyes were still wet with tears.

Ron shrugged.

“Yeah, well… with you three saying it, I was beginning to feel like the odd one out,” he said casually. Then he looked back at Ginny, and smiled slightly. “So, you OK about Harry’s little omission?”

Ginny smiled back, and gave Ron a brief hug.

“I think I’ll let him off,” she said, smiling slightly.

_If he’s there at the end of this mess_ … she thought briefly, but shook it off; this wasn’t the time for thoughts like that.

* * *

  
Outside the hotel, the sunlight already starting to sink from the sky, Harry stood on the opposite side of the road, now dressed in a more inconspicuous outfit of blue jeans and a blue-and-cream checked shirt, his trunk shrunk down to a size that it could fit into his pocket, his wand in a ‘holster’ on his leg, and the Mask clutched in his right hand.

A part of him was tempted to go in and see how everyone was, but he was worried that, if he tried that, he’d never be able to leave, Voldemort and the fate of the world be damned…

No; the letter would have to suffice for now.

Right now, he had an orphanage to visit.

Taking a deep breath, his grip tightening on the Mask, Harry Disapparated…


	6. The First Horcrux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to re-stress the point, this was written and completed _before_ “ _Deathly Hallows_ ” was released; hence, all revelations regarding the horcruxes in this chapter are original and unaffected by the information we learned in “ _Hallows_ ”

… And appeared in an alleyway off a quiet street on the outskirts of London.

Harry smiled in relief; at least he’d remembered enough details about what he’d seen in the pensieve to pick a good location to Apparate to. As things currently stood, he was far enough away from the orphanage that he shouldn’t’ have triggered any alerts Voldemort might have left there, but close enough so that it wouldn’t take him ages to walk there.

And, best of all, the sun was so low in the sky that it should set soon, allowing him to use the Mask to deal with any defences that might be located around the horcrux.

Slipping the Mask under his jacket and his wand up his sleeve, Harry stepped out of the alleyway and began to walk down the street, smiling fondly at the surroundings; he may have never actually _been_ here himself, but his brief ‘visit’ to this location in Dumbledore’s pensieve had been pleasant enough in its own way. True, the street had changed a lot over the last few decades, but some details never changed …

_Wait a minute_ , Harry thought to himself, as he stopped, staring at the sign in front of him.

He’d been pretty sure that the orphanage had been located just _before_ this sign.

He walked back a few steps, and stared at the buildings in front of him.

Nothing; not even a pile of rubble remained to mark the spot where the orphanage had once stood. Just two blocks of flats, each one here when Tom Riddle had lived here all those years ago, still standing exactly where they had before, but with nothing in between them.

But there _had_ to be a horcrux here; it just wouldn’t make sense for Voldemort not to leave it in this location. Practically nobody else would know about this place; you’d need to know _tons_ about Voldemort’s past to pull this off, and nobody really knew _anything_ about that apart from Dumbledore, as far as Voldemort would know…

Then it clicked, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at Voldemort’s latest move.

“The Fidelus Charm…” he muttered to himself, a slight smile on his face as he stared at the line between the two buildings. He had to admit, that was a smart move of Voldemort’s; whatever horcrux was kept here was simultaneously kept in the most obvious location, and was the hardest one to find.

After all, no wizard alive could get through the Fidelus Charm without information from the Secret-Keeper…

Fortunately, Harry had the Mask. No matter what kind of a defence the Fidelus Charm was against wizards, Harry was prepared to bet he’d be able to think of _something_ he could turn into with the Mask that would let him get through the Charm.

Glancing up at the sky, he smiled slightly in relief as he saw the sun finally begin to sink over the horizon. Ducking into a nearby back street, he pulled out the Mask, raised it to his face…

* * *

  
And then, a brief spin later, Mark Tiller was standing in the middle of the street, dressed in a green tunic, a long green hat, and white leggings, with long blonde hair hanging down over his forehead, a blue shield on his back, a large sword in his right hand, and a magnifying-glass like object in his left.

Looking down at himself, Mark smiled. He had to hand it to Dudley; the kid may have been an idiot, but at least he’d enjoyed kicking monster arse on _Legend of Zelda_ ; Harry would never have had this idea otherwise. True, the Lens of Truth had never been used against something like the Fidelus Charm in game continuity to the best of his knowledge, but it seemed to be his best bet.

Raising the Lens to his left eye, Mark chuckled as he saw the old orphanage standing in front of him. It seemed a bit more neglected than when Harry had seen it in the pensieve- some ivy on its walls in places, that sort of thing- but nothing major; it all seemed reasonably intact.

The glass still up to his eye, Mark walked towards the orphanage, opened the door, and stepped inside, putting the glass in his pocket as he did so; once inside the building, the Charm was apparently void.

Looking around the hall, Mark was slightly saddened to see how far it had fallen in the years. It had seemed such a pleasant little place when he’d seen it in the pensieve, and now it looked like the ‘Before’ stage on some of home makeover shows his aunt had sometime watched, only worse.

Sighing slightly at the waste of potential, Mark began to walk down the nearby corridor, hoping that his memory was serving him correctly; if he was right, this was the way to Tom Riddle’s old room in the orphanage. It seemed the most logical place to leave the horcrux…

Then, as he rounded a corridor, he felt a brief tinge in his right leg, and suddenly found himself standing on a thin beam stretching over a deep hole in the ground, fire blaring out of the pit at random intervals a certain distance away from the beams. Evidently their main purpose was to startle rather than kill, although what that would accomplish Mark wasn’t entirely clear on.

Mark sighed in annoyance; evidently, Voldemort had set up some kind of security system that was triggered if someone came for the Horcrux who _wasn’t_ him.

“Ah well; at least this probably means I won’t have to drink a bunch of crap to get the horcrux out,” Mark said to himself, as he looked at the pole before him. Theoretically, one person could do this on their own if they had good balance and could run fast enough, but Mark couldn’t be sure that there wouldn’t be some extra twist that he hadn’t seen yet. After all, those flames looked pretty dangerous, but there’d have to be something else here that would heal any damage that they might cause to an invader. As Dumbledore had said, Voldemort would want to question anyone who made it this far to find out how they knew about the horcruxes.

To be safe, he pretended to stumble off the beam, then briefly span around in mid-air before reappearing, this time covered in flames and a skin-tight outfit that somehow _wasn’t_ getting incinerated by the fire, hovering in mid-air.

“YES!” Mark yelled, as he flew up towards the ceiling and flew on down the corridor, his eyes fixed on the door at the end of the corridor that opened onto the stairs that would lead him up to Riddle’s old room…

Then he saw it. True, it was now only a ‘door’ in the sense of being a hole in the wall- the actual door seemed to have fallen off its hinges and now be lying on the ground near the bottom of the stairs- but it was still there…

As soon as Mark got close to it, he sensed, rather than felt, something begin to fly through the air towards him, apparently some kind of disc from what he could see out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, Mark raised the temperature of his now-flaming body to such a degree that the metal disc was instantly vaporised,

Tearing through the door, Mark braked sharply in mid-air, rotated ninety degrees in the air so that he was pointing upwards, and then flew up towards the second landing, touching down on the ground and spinning again.

This time, Mark reappeared dressed in black trousers and shoes, a gold shirt with long gold sleeves, black shoulders, and a black neck, and a strange visor covering his eyes. He knew there were probably better options for checking the area for magical defences than this, but he couldn’t think of them off the top of his head, and he didn’t want to risk having Voldemort show up to find out who had found the horcrux. When he’d taken out the last four horcruxes, _then_ he’d worry about facing Riddle; right now, he had other proverbial fish to fry.

He smiled slightly; there was nothing in the corridor that would attack him, but a magical shield was over the door, presumably of the same kind that had protected the last horcrux.

Sighing, Mark spun around again, reappearing dressed in a red-and-green pullover, brown trousers and shoes, and a long brown glove with sharp metal claws on his right hand. Raising his left hand, Mark drew a brief line across the palm of his hand and grasped the door handle, sighing sadly as the door opened. Dumbledore was right; Riddle really did have VERY little imagination when it came to defences.

Entering the room, Mark sighed with relief as he saw the horcrux that he had come here for. It was in the middle of the room, apparently unprotected, standing nonchalantly in the middle of a table.

It was a golden cup, with the mark of a badger on it that signified that it had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.

Mark sighed in relief; at least _that_ part of the proceedings had gone to plan. True, it did mean that there was still a horcrux out there that he couldn’t identify, but at least that was one of them down.

Now all he had to do was to get out of this place, confirm that it was what he thought it was, figure out how to destroy it, and all would be well.

Mark reached out with his unclawed left hand, picked the cup up by one of its handles…

An suddenly, something rammed into his bag, making him strike the table in front of him with such force that all the air was forced out of his lungs.

Gasping for breath as he collapsed to the ground, the horcrux still clutched in his left hand, Mark rolled around onto his back and lashed out at whatever was holding him with his clawed right hand…

“Damnit,” he muttered, as his eyes fell on what was holding him down.

Like the last time, it was a mass of Inferi, piling on top of him as they scrabbled towards the horcrux clasped in his hand. The claws on his hand had caused some scars on the faces of the nearest Inferi, but, like when he’d tried to use the _Sectumsepra_ spell on the ones guarding the locket, it had no effect.

Tensing, Mark closed his eyes, focused, spun around again where he lay pinned onto the ground, throwing several Inferi off him, and, when the spinning stopped, he was once again his own Human Torch.

“Time to show you bastards _just_ what I can do,” he said, as he drew back his hand and threw fireball after fireball at his foes, smiling gleefully as they all burst into flames before him.

As soon as he had the space to do so, Mark leapt into the air, flew out of the room, back into the stairs, and then began to tear up towards the roof, a mere two stories above him, gradually increasing his heat as he moved further upwards…

He crashed through the fragile remains of the roof, destroying what the sheer heat that he was generating hadn’t already incinerated. As soon as he was out, he smiled and spun again, reappearing as a figure dressed in black with a red helmet and cloak and a small red rod in his hand.

Grinning in approval at the outfit- the Torch had been a bit too noticeable for him at the moment-, Mark flew up into the air and charged through the air, not stopping until he’d reached a hill on the outskirts of the town. Landing on the ground, Mark checked his hand, and was pleased to see that, in all this time, he’d managed to retain his grip on the horcrux.

Tossing the cup up into the air, he spun around one last time, emerging dressed in a black leather coat over the jeans and shirt Harry had been wearing before putting the Mask on, then catching the cup by the other handle as it headed back towards the ground again.

Chuckling as he looked at the horcrux, Mark clenched one fist and punched the air in triumph.

“Y-ESSSSSSS!” he yelled, as he stared at the cup in his hands.

Then his face hardened as he reached into his pocket and pulled a magnifying glass out of his pocket. It resembled the Lens of Truth he’d used earlier, but this glass was a little something he’d used the Mask to create. It told Mark whether or not he was looking at something that held within it a fragment of Voldemort’s twisted excuse of a soul, or if all he was looking at was a fancy replica, much like the locket he and Dumbledore had found a month ago.

He grinned; the cup was glowing with a combination of green and black that, through the glass, identified it as a horcrux.

Slipping the glass back into his pocket, Mark placed the cup on the ground, stepped back a few paces, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a large shotgun that he then levelled at the cup.

“Say hello to my little friend…” he whispered in a slight American accent, glaring harshly at the horcrux as he squeezed the trigger.

Thrown back slightly by the recoil- so different from using a wand- Mark watched with a satisfied smile as the horcrux shattered under the bullets.

One down, three to go.

Then Mark sighed as he slumped down onto a large nearby rock.

If only he could figure out who R.A.B. really was…

Then he sighed, stood up, stretched, and looked around at the hill he was standing on.

“Well, still got a good few hours before the sun rises; might as well get down to business,” he said, smiling as he spun around, reappearing as a tall figure dressed in green-and-yellow spandex with red hair.

“Better ge’ movin’,” he said, chuckling slightly at his new Irish accent before leaping up into the air, a light screech just audible from him as he flew through the sky towards his next destination.

Right now, he had to talk things over with the only person he could guarantee knew just as much about the situation as he did…

Albus Dumbledore.

Or, more specifically, his portrait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone wants to know, the characters Mark turns into here are, in order, Link from _The Legend of Zelda_ , the Human Torch of the Fantastic Four, Geordi LaForge of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , Freddy Krueger from _Nightmare on Elm Street_ , the Torch again, Starman from DC Comics, and, after a brief time as nobody in particular, he turned into Banshee from _X-Men_.


	7. In Dumbledore's Office

After a few hours of flying, Mark’s eyes finally fell on the large form of Hogwarts, only about a mile or so ahead of him. He smiled in relief; this flying thing was all well and good, but it was getting a bit tiring having to keep up the vibrations necessary to allow him to fly.

Going in lower, Mark spun around briefly in mid-flight before re-emerging as a taller figure wearing green trousers and a bird-like mask, a mace in his hand and long feathered wings stretching out of his back.

Nodding briefly in approval, Mark flew onwards until he reached the tower that, if memory served, housed the Headmaster’s office. Landing on the ledge, Mark spun around again, re-emerging in red trousers and gloves with a blue-and-red top and blue cowl, now only about six inches tall.

Hopping through the window, he spun around again and, when he landed on the floor of the office, he was dressed once again in the leather coat, checked shirt and blue jeans he’d appeared in when he’d destroyed the horcrux.

Looking around the office, Mark couldn’t help but sigh slightly. It didn’t look any different from when he’d last seen it- even Fawkes’ stand hadn’t been removed- but, somehow, it lacked for something that it had possessed during Dumbledore’s time as headmaster.

Maybe it was the sense of security he’d always felt when in here….

After all, with Dumbledore dead, Hogwarts had lost the greatest headmaster it had ever known; not to Voldemort, but to a random Death Eater. The fact that the Death Eater in question had managed to fool everyone for nearly sixteen years didn’t change the facts; he was still, in Mark’s book, just a soldier, and not Voldemort himself.

_Snape_ …

Mark clenched his fists and shook his head.

He knew he hated Snape with a passion that almost eclipsed his hatred of Voldemort, but he _wouldn’t_ allow himself to give in to his rage. If he got the chance, he’d hit Snape around so hard that the bastard wouldn’t even have the chance to fire off a single spell at him…

But Harry Potter wouldn’t kill Severus Snape, and neither would Mark Tiller. There was only one man either of them would kill. If they were fighting someone who wasn’t that man, he’d get out of the fight alive; anyone else they didn’t like would just get bashed as much as humanly possible.

“Which isn’t to say that the bastard wouldn’t deserve it…” Mark muttered to himself, as he raised one hand up to his face and clenched it as though wishing he had Voldemort’s throat in the hand.

“Which ‘bastard’ would this be, Harry?” a voice said from behind him.

Spinning around at the voice, Mark visibly relaxed as he saw that the speaker was merely Dumbledore’s portrait, smiling merely at him.

“P… professor?” Mark said, unable to conceal his uncertainty; even after over six years in the magical world, he still wasn’t entirely clear on whether the paintings just had the memories of the subjects or were actually _part_ of the subjects.  
He was more inclined towards the paintings containing a fragment of a soul, but not in the same sense as a horcrux. After all, so many primitive cultures had once believed that photographs stole a fragment of the soul; why shouldn’t there be some truth to that legend?

“Um… how did you know it was me?” he asked, deciding to attend to the most obvious question first. “There isn’t…”

The portrait smiled. “No, Harry, I assure you, I did not identify you because of some obscure detail that may be noticed by anyone,” he said, smiling again at the young wizard. “It is actually rather basic; Professor Binns came up earlier to tell me that you had been asking questions pertaining to the Mask of Loki. Now, unlike Miss Granger, you have never liked doing research into magical history or similar subjects, which rendered it unlikely that you had stumbled across a reference to it in a book and wished to know more about it. Given that, according to all reports, the Mask gives the user a green head while they wear it, and since there have been no major Death Eater attacks in the last few hours (to my knowledge) that may have resulted in the theft of some item or another from you or your friends, it seems a fairly safe assumption that you had come into the possession of the Mask, and have now come here because you wish to talk to me about something.”

Then he sat back in the portrait and raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Now, have you anything you wish to say to me?”

Mark nodded, swallowed briefly…

And then spun around, apparently on instinct, emerging from the vortex as an extremely large and muscular green figure in purple trousers, who turned to look at Dumbledore with an extremely angry expression on his face.

“ _You bloody IDIOT_!” he yelled at the portrait, veins standing out all over his arms and face, his anger almost cartoonishly exaggerated by the Mask’s power. “ _I told you AGAIN and AGAIN that you couldn’t trust that BASTARD! He sold out my PARENTS! He provoked Sirius into that fight that got him KILLED! And LOOK WHAT HE DID TO YOU! You’re DEAD! You’re DEAD AND I… I…_ ”

He stopped, staring at Dumbledore as he sat serenely in the portrait, looking back at Mark with a small smile on his face.

“You… what, Harry?” he asked, his voice in the same soothing tone that Mark recognised from after his tantrum following Sirius’s death a year ago.

Mark paused for a few moments. Then he slumped down onto the stone floor of the office, clasped his head in his hands, and began to cry.

“And I… I don’t know what to do…” he said, between his sobs.

As he said it, Mark knew that it was true. He wasn’t angry at Dumbledore for trusting Snape, although that was part of it.

He was angry at Dumbledore for leaving him to deal with this alone. He was angry at Dumbledore for leaving him to battle Voldemort, he was angry at Dumbledore for leaving him to destroy the horcruxes, he was…

Mark groaned.

He was even angry at Dumbledore for not being available to advise him on what he should have done regarding his relationship with Ginny. True, it would have felt awkward discussing that kind of thing with the headmaster, but it wouldn’t have been that kind of advice; more asking him whether or not he should continue to see Ginny, or if leaving her to protect her was the best strategy…

Well; what was done was done. He’d started the potential of something with Ginny as Mark, and he’d see who that went later. Right now, things were as they were, and he had other matters to attend to.

Standing up, Mark spun around again, reappearing in the increasingly familiar coat, shirt and jeans that Mark seemed to favour above all other clothes, before looking back at Dumbledore with a slightly sheepish expression.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Professor,” he said, grinning slightly with what he hoped was a disarming grin.

Dumbledore smiled. “It is quite all right, Harry,” he said, before his grin faded and he looked at Harry with a more serious expression. “Now, I presume that you did not merely come here for the pleasure of my company?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, nodding before looking back at the portrait. “I… I found one of the other horcruxes.”

“Indeed?” Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow in a gesture that could have been either surprise or approval; Mark chose to take it as approval until further notice. “Where and which?”

“It was in the orphanage where Voldemort grew up, sir,” Mark replied. “It was Hufflepuff’s cup; I destroyed it with a shotgun I… uh, pulled out of my pocket?” he said, grinning sheepishly. Even to him, the words sounded stupid, and he’d _done_ it.

Dumbledore, thankfully, merely nodded.

“Yes, it was said that the Mask could give its user powers like that,” he said, as he looked at Mark. “It was a good thing you used that method, Harry; horcruxes cannot be destroyed by conventional spells or non-magical weapons.”

“Really?” Mark said, looking at Dumbledore curiously. “But then, why was I able to destroy the diary with a basilisk fang?”

Then he answered his own question. “Because the basilisk is a magical creature and so its venom counted as a magical weapon, right?”

“Correct,” Dumbledore said, nodding in approval as he looked at Mark. “That was actually one of the main problems I had in destroying the horcrux in the ring. Since little is known about horcruxes, and I had already failed to destroy it with conventional spells, I merely put it on my finger to transport it back to Hogwarts, my robes, unfortunately, lacking pockets. This, unfortunately, turned out to be nearly my undoing.”

“How?” Mark asked, looking at his mentor curiously.

“It would appear that, if the object is used for what it was originally intended, the horcrux will begin to take them over, supplanting their souls with the fragment within it,” Dumbledore explained. “Fortunately, I put it on a hand that had been injured in the fight, so its attempts to control my actions were delayed long enough for me to get to Hogwarts, where-”

“Snape managed to work out a way of containing the soul in the horcrux and not spreading to you, right?” Mark put in.  
He sighed. “So _that’s_ what the bastard did…”

“It did save my life, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sighing as he looked at his now-green-headed protégé. “I must be grateful.”

“But it cost you your _hand_!” Mark yelled in frustration. “What’s so good about _that_!”

“There was no other way, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “The horcrux had been inefficiently destroyed. I had to keep the ring on my hand to prevent the horcrux from regenerating itself over time. With all the potions in my system, coupled with the spells that Snape had helped me cast, the soul fragment in the horcrux could not regenerate.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why you stopped wearing the ring!” Mark said, clicking his fingers as inspiration struck home.

Then he frowned. “But why couldn’t you heal your hand?”

Dumbledore shrugged. “A necessary extra precaution; the horcrux may have been able to use the magic that would heal my hand to regenerate itself. So long as that hand received no treatment, there was no excess magical power for the horcrux to feed from, and thus it would eventually die.”

“Ah,” Mark said, nodding thoughtfully. The premises of the theory seemed to make sense, although he hoped that _he’d_ never have to resort to such desperate measures to destroy a horcrux; the scar was more than enough of a memento of what Voldemort had done to him…

Then he shook his head and sighed as he looked back at Dumbledore. “Anyway, on the topic of horcruxes, did you have any other possible locations where he might have hidden one?”

“A few possibilities spring to mind,” Dumbledore said. “The Riddle House and the Chamber of Secrets are plausible candidates, but I find that unlikely. Firstly, he could not access the Chamber of Secrets after he left Hogwarts without someone knowing of his presence in the school, so he cannot have left anything here recently-”

“And before he left, the only horcruxes he could have created were the ring and the diary, right?” Mark added. He shrugged. “Well, I didn’t want to go back down there anyway.”

Looking back up at Dumbledore, he smiled slightly. “And I think I can safely say you _don’t_ think the horcrux is at the Riddle house, right?” he asked.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, nodding at Mark. “May I ask how you came to this conclusion?”

Mark shrugged. “Well, all his Death Eaters know about it now, don’t they? He may have forgiven them _publicly_ , but I don’t think he’d want to risk any of them turning against him. After all, after thirteen years without him, maybe some of them… I dunno, kind of preferred being able to go about on their own steam?”

Then he sighed, and looked back at Dumbledore, a regretful expression in his eyes. “Then… well, there’s the locket…”

“Yes, I gathered a bit about that,” Dumbledore said, nodding thoughtfully. “Someone called ‘R.A.B.’ who referred to Voldemort as ‘the Dark Lord’, correct? And since only Death Eaters have ever referred to Voldemort as such…”

“Yeah, it seemed to add up,” Mark said. He groaned and slumped down against the desk, staring up at the ceiling. “But who… _who_ …”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, looking scoldingly at the young wizard, “you shouldn’t push yourself so hard. You’ve already destroyed one horcrux this night; I think that will be enough for now. You cannot allow yourself to become so committed to this goal that you neglect the other things in life, or you would-”

“‘Be no better than Voldemort’, I know,” Mark said, as he looked back at Dumbledore and sighed again. “I know that, sir… it’s just… it’s just _hard_ , you know? After all these years of having the possibility of that bastard trying to kill me hanging over my head, I _finally_ have a means of stopping him, and I just… I just want to get it over with, you know?”

He stared down at the ground, resting his forehead on his knees as he bent his legs into a foetal-like position. “I just want to be able to be _me_ , not the bloody Boy Who Lived…”

“Ah; so that’s why you haven’t taken the Mask off since we started talking, I assume?” Dumbledore put in. “It lets you do that without worrying what people will think of you?”

Mark blinked in surprise.

He hadn’t thought of it like that. He’d just kept the Mask on because it seemed easier than taking it off and putting it back on again after they’d finished, to go to… wherever it was he’d go to next.

But, then again, Dumbledore _did_ have a point. Hadn’t Binns said that the Mask released the side of the wearer’s personality that the wearer _didn’t_ show to the public? Hadn’t he felt a greater sense of _freedom_ at the party last night than he’d ever felt when he was Harry?

(OK, he’d felt that relaxed around Ginny and Hedwig, but that was about it; even with Ron and Hermione, on some level, he always felt like he had to be the hero, not the boy…)

Mark sighed as he looked up at the portrait.

“Maybe…” he said, nodding thoughtfully. Then he glanced at his watch and sighed again. “Nearly morning.”

“And, if I recall my mythology, Loki was a night god, and his Mask thus does not work at night, correct?” Dumbledore asked.

Mark nodded. “So… what do I do?”

“Simple,” Dumbledore said, indicating his office. “You just sleep here; Minerva doesn’t come in over the summer anyway. Besides, you might as well wait here; there is someone who comes here often who I feel shall be of invaluable help to you in the future.”

“Who?” Mark asked, looking at Dumbledore curiously.

Dumbledore just looked up at something behind Mark, and smiled.

“There he is,” he said.

Mark turned around, and saw, to his surprise, on the stand behind him…

“ _Fawkes_!” Mark said, smiling at the beautiful gold-and-red bird that was standing there, looking at him with what could almost be a smile if you ignored the fact that beaks weren’t adapted for that.  
He looked back at Dumbledore in confusion. “But… but I thought Fawkes left Hogwarts after you… you know…”

“Yes, he did,” Dumbledore said, nodding in agreement before turning to look back at the bird behind Harry. “However, he has a certain… attachment to you, shall we say? After all, your wand does use one of his tail feathers for its core; bonds between a wizard and a phoenix in such a case are invariably present. Fawkes returned mid-way through the month, but has been waiting here ever since; I took it to mean that he was waiting for you, and knew that here was a place you might reasonably be expected to return to.”

“Really?” Mark said, looking at Fawkes with more than a slight degree of awe. “Help from a _phoenix_ … wow…”

Reaching out, he stroked at Fawkes’s chest feathers, and was rewarded with a brief trill of phoenix song from the bird as it looked at him; evidently, like Dumbledore, Fawkes still knew who he was under the Mask.

Mark smiled; with Fawkes to help him out in his search, things were already starting to look up…


	8. A Night to Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I go into italics later on, the italics are song lyrics and anything beside them in brackets is the actions that are being performed at that point in the song (and I obviously don’t own ANYTHING in that song itself anyway)

Ginny sighed as she sat idly in her room, staring at the photograph in her hand. It was a relatively recent picture, taken during one of those rare weekends that Harry and Ginny had been able to spend time together on their own without Snape’s detentions getting in their way, and it captured the spirit of those free times expertly. When Harry’s photographic self _wasn’t_ grinning out at whoever was holding the picture like a lunatic, he was turning around to give her photographic counterpart a brief peck on the forehead, have a brief waltz to some unknown music with her, just hug her as though he never wanted to let her go…

Ginny sighed.

“Why couldn’t he be that eager to be with me in real life?” she said, looking over at Hedwig’s cage, which still contained Harry’s beautiful white owl. Ron had been so shaken after he woke up and found Harry’s note that he’d originally neglected to notice that Harry had left Hedwig behind; either Harry couldn’t be bothered to carry the cage around with him, or he hadn’t been sure he could find somewhere safe for the owl while he did… whatever it was he was doing right now.

Either way, when Ron had gone back to Harry’s room and noticed the owl’s cage standing beside Harry’s bed, Ginny had volunteered to take care of Hedwig while Harry was gone. If nothing else, it helped her feel closer to the man she…

_No_. Ginny told herself, stopping that line of thought; if she started thinking that, she’d start crying and never be able to stop.

Hedwig hooted slightly at Ginny and cocked her head slightly to one side in a quizzical manner, as though asking her temporary owner what was wrong with her.

Ginny chuckled slightly at that.

“I wish you could talk, Hedwig,” she said, reaching through the cage bars to stroke the owl’s white feathers. “After all, you’re the only one of us who’s seen Harry be totally himself; maybe you’d have some idea why he did this…”

It may have just been her ruffling her feathers, but Ginny could have sworn that Hedwig shook her head and then jerked it briefly towards Ginny at that comment.

Almost as though she was saying that _Ginny_ had seen Harry in that position as well…

Then there was a knocking at…

The _window_?

“Ginny?” a voice said from outside. “Are you in there?”

Looking over in the direction of her window, Ginny blinked in surprise at the sight in front of her. Standing outside the window, dressed a cream-coloured silk outfit with gold trim on the shoulders, his face looking at her earnestly with the slight edge of a grin, was…

“Mark?” Ginny asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and walking over to look at the young men she’d met last night. “What are you doing here?”

* * *

  
It was all Mark could do to stop the Mask from expressing his appreciation of the sight in front of him in a _very_ expressive manner- namely, diving through the window and snogging Ginny senseless. As attractive a prospect as that sounded, he wasn’t here as _Harry_ ; he was here as _Mark_ , a young man with a green head and odd powers that Ginny had only met once. He had to take things slower, no matter how much he wanted them to go faster as he saw Ginny standing in the room. She was wearing a simple sky-blue T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans; evidently, she hadn’t changed for bed yet. Some may have thought the effect wasn’t that attractive, but, as far as Mark was concerned, Ginny would have looked gorgeous wearing a rubbish bag and with her hair and face covered in grim…

“Well, that’s a fairly long story, but I’ll try and make it quick,” he said, smiling at her as she walked over to him and opened the window; he had to keep his mind on track. “Basically, after our little dance the night before last, I wanted to see you again.”

Ginny blushed slightly at that, but then regained her composure as she looked at him again.

“Well, that’s one answer,” she said, evidently trying to pass off her earlier blush, “but I was more curious about what you’re doing _outside_ my room when it’s on the _second_ …”

Then she looked down, saw the purple-and-gold carpet that Mark was standing on, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“…floor,” she finished, before looking at Mark in confusion. “You have a magic carpet?”

“So?” Mark asked, smiling back at Ginny. “Why can’t I? They’re not illegal, are they?”

“Um… yeah, actually,” Ginny said, looking back at Mark in confusion. “They’re too obvious to Muggles when they’re flying; you’d be spotted as soon as you go too low! Brooms may not be large enough to be seen, but _carpets_ -”

Mark rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner of exasperation.

“Why is it people _never_ consider the easy option?” he said, as he floated up slightly, allowing Ginny to see the other side of the carpet; namely, the side that was totally invisible.

Ginny blinked in surprise as Mark lowered the carpet down again so that they were at eye level once again.

“How… how’d you _do_ that?” she asked, looking from him to the carpet in confusion.

“Disillusioning charm on the bottom of the carpet; whole thing’s rendered totally invisible to anyone looking at it from that side,” Mark explained, smiling at her eager curiosity. “It’s a complicated way to fly, I know, but it’s worth it; brooms are good for speed, but carpets have a certain comfort about them that no broom can equal.

He held out a hand to her, and grinned. “Care to come away for a quick spin so I can show you what I mean?” he asked, enjoying the sight of her eyes widening as she stared at him. “What do you say… want to see the world from a _different_ angle? Take a bit of a fly on the wilder side?”

“Really?” Ginny asked, looking at the carpet curiously before looking back at her room. “But… but what if…?”

“Your parents find you gone?” Mark asked, smiling. “Don’t worry; I’ll have you back soon enough.”

He looked earnestly at her. “Please?” he said, holding out his hand again. “I… I really would like it.”

Ginny smiled shyly back at him and took his hand.

“OK,” she said, as she stepped onto the carpet.

Then she shot Mark a glare as the smile faded. “No funny business, or you’re off the rug; got me?”

“Of course,” Mark said, holding up his hands in a reassuring manner. “I promise you, my dear girl, as I promised your brother at the party; I am the very _picture_ of discretion!”

“And then, as I recall, you went and danced with me for most of the night, to music that you seemed to whip up of your own accord?” Ginny asked. “Not exactly my idea of discreet, Mr Tiller.”

Mark shrugged. “Hey; I didn’t _try_ anything, right?” he said. “That’s discreet in my book.”

Then, before Ginny good reply, he stood up and tugged Ginny up onto her feet by tugging on her hand. “Just a tick; you’re not _quite_ dressed right for this…” he said, spinning her round once. When she re-emerged from the green vortex that had briefly surrounded her, Ginny was dressed in a sleeveless, off-shoulder blue top and skin-tight blue silk trousers, her hair tied back in a long ponytail.

Mark nodded in approval. “Perfect,” he said, smiling at her stunned expression as she examined her new outfit. As she looked up at him, he shrugged. “I saw this in a muggle movie once and I always wanted to try it out,” he explained, before he sat down with her once again. “Anyway, shall we?”

Ginny nodded uncertainly as she sat down besides Mark. Raising his right hand, his left arm wrapping itself around Ginny’s shoulders, he clicked his fingers, and the carpet flew away from the Burrow, as music began to play…

Mark looked down at Ginny, who was staring around her as the village of Ottery St Catchpole sped along below them, as he began to sing.

* * *

  
**Mark:** _I can show you the world,_ (Mark indicates the village below them)  
 _Shining, shimmering, splendid.  
_ _Tell me, Ginny, now when did you last  
_ _Let your heart decide?_ (He raises his hand and the carpet begins to fly up into the sky)

 _I can open your eyes_ (He smiles at Ginny as she stares around her as they fly above the clouds, the stars visible above them far more vividly than down on the ground)  
 _Take you wonder by wonder_ (The carpet descends and, suddenly, they are flying through New York)  
 _Over, sideways, and under_ (Flies above a building at ‘over’, weaving around a skyscraper at ‘sideways’ and duck under a railway bridge at ‘under’)  
 _On a magic carpet ride_

_A whole new world_ (The carpet begins to go upwards as it spins around, as though caught in a whirlwind))  
 _A new fantastic point of view_ (Mark clenches one fist in the air as though he has just caught something)  
 _No one to tell us no_ (He shakes his head)  
 _Or where to go_ (He points in a direction)  
 _Or say we're only dreaming_

(Looking back at the rapidly-receding city behind them, Ginny smiles slightly as the clouds surround them once again before picking up the song herself, the words flowing from her as though they were pre-rehearsed, instead of coming from something inside her even _she_ couldn’t identify)

**Ginny:** _A whole new world_ (She looks over as a plan flies near them, but they are near enough and low enough so that none of the passengers or the pilots can see them)  
 _A dazzling place I never knew_ (She spreads her arms wide, as though trying to get the maximum amount out of this experience)  
 _But when I'm way up here  
_ _It's crystal clear_ (She looks over at Mark, a slightly awed expression on her face as she considers the implications of her next line)  
 _That now I'm in a whole new world with you_!

**Mark:** (Smiles and takes her hand) _Now I'm in a whole new world with you_!

(They each catch a small cloud as the carpet continues the flight. It then circles a pillar of clouds, giving it a swirl-like look)

**Ginny:** _Unbelievable sights_ (The Eiffel tower is briefly visible as the carpet ducks under the clouds before flying back up)  
 _Indescribable feeling  
_ _Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling_ (The carpet does these things as she speaks)  
 _Through an endless diamond sky_

(They join a flock of birds in the air, one of them looks terrified and squawks. The carpet does somersaults and flips, at times putting Mark and Ginny in free-fall, but catching them. They then zoom above the clouds where a starry night awaits them.)

**Ginny:** _A whole new world!_ (Ginny shuts her eyes as the wind hits her)  
 **Mark:** “ _Don't you dare close your eyes_ (Mark glares at Ginny in a mockingly serious manner until she opens her eyes, looks back at him, and grins sheepishly)  
 **Ginny:** _An hundred thousand things to see!  
_ **Mark:** (Holds up one hand as though to stop her) _Hold your breath- it gets better!_

**Ginny:** _I'm like a shooting star,  
_ _I've come so far_ (The carpet briefly accelerates, as though to reinforce the idea that she is going to go even further)  
 _I can't go back to where I used to be!_

(They zoom down over the Nile, the Great Pyramids visible a short way away)

**Mark:** _A whole new world!_ (The carpet spins around to fly past the pyramids)  
 **Ginny:** _Every turn a surprise_ (They turn and, after a few seconds of accelerated flying, they are approaching the sphinx)  
 **Mark:** _With new horizons to pursue_ (He points forward, as though at some unspecified destination)  
 **Ginny:** _Every moment, red-letter_

(They fly alongside wild horses running. Ginny pets one of them, and Mark smiles as the horse nuzzles her hand)

**Both:** _I'll chase them anywhere_ (They fly upwards again)  
 _There's time to spare_ (They look into each other’s eyes, and Mark gives Ginny a dashing grin; one tooth twinkles as the light hits it)  
 _Let me share this whole new world with you_

(Mark leans over and puts his arm around Ginny as the carpet descends, to show a vast city stretched out before them)

**Mark:** _A whole new world  
_ **Ginny:** _That's where we'll be  
_ **Mark:** _A thrilling chase  
_ **Ginny:** _A wondrous place_

(The two of them turn to look at each other as they sing this last line softly)

**Both:** _For you and me…_

* * *

  
As they flew back up above the clouds once again, Mark leaned slightly towards Ginny, raising one eyebrow in an inquiring gesture.

Ginny didn’t answer him in words. Instead, she leaned towards Mark, and, her eyes slightly closed, she kissed him.

But even as they kissed, teeth clashing, skin on skin, tongue on tongue, even though Ginny knew that this wasn’t him, even though she was trying to move on in case he never came back…

She still couldn’t shake the vague impression that she wasn’t kissing Mark Tiller, a rather strange young man with curious powers and an unnaturally athletic dancing ability…

And that she was actually kissing Harry Potter instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who may protest about Mark being able to get around the world as fast as he did in this chapter, the guy has the power of a God at his disposal; why shouldn’t he be able to ‘teleport’ from place to place at a rapid rate? Sure, Loki took some time to travel in the myths, but who’s to say what limitations the Mask has these days, especially since it’s tapping into Harry’s own magical powers?


	9. A Funny Little Thing Called Love/Life

“So… how’d the wedding go after Harry and I left it?” Mark asked, looking over at Ginny where she was lying on the ground beside him as they stared up at the night sky from a hill outside Ottery St Catchpole. Mark had started there with the intention of taking Ginny back home, but they’d gone past a small wood that Ginny had fond memories of from when she was younger, and she’d insisted that Mark land there so she could have a look around. Currently the two of them were just lying down and staring up at the sky, Ginny lost in the beauty of the stars above them.

(Mark, of course, was looking at Ginny; whether Harry or Mark, both of them far preferred her to stars any day of the week)

Ginny started out of her train of thought and looked over at Mark curiously.

“How do you know Harry left?” she asked, looking at him in confusion.

“Well, he wasn’t there when I got to the party-” Mark began.

“For all you knew, he might just have never even shown up in the first place,” Ginny pointed out, as she looked critically at Mark. “Why would you _automatically_ assume he left?”

Then her face became even more serious as she looked at him. “And why would you even ask about what happened after _he_ left? I mean, I know you’re friends, but we don’t even know where he _is_ anymore.”

Mark looked briefly like a fish out of water for a moment or two, but in the end Ginny just sighed and turned away from him, sighing again as she lay down; evidently, she’d decided to disregard her earlier question for reasons of her own.

“Why do I even bother with finding out _anything_ about guys?” she asked, the question apparently directed at nobody in particular. “Men have to be the most bloody confusing creatures on the _planet_. I mean, I wait _five_ years for him to even _notice_ me, then he leaves me so he can be the hero, then I go and start falling for a guy who won’t even tell me how he can do all the stuff he can do…”

Her hand flew to her mouth as she shot up, looking over at Mark with a sheepish expression on her face that somehow also managed to convey horror at the same time.

“Sorry,” she began to say, in that rapid, desperate manner that Mark/Harry had always found somehow attractive about her; so stubborn one minute, and so eager to apologise to those she… cared for… the next. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded; I-”

“No, it’s fine,” Mark said, waving a dismissive hand. “I acknowledge that my… lack of information… about how I can do what I do can be annoying at times. I’m just not really all that used to the company of people; I spent quite a few of the early years of my life hidden away until I could learn how to control my powers. My parents were worried that I might be a danger to myself and others otherwise.”

Inwardly Mark was already trying to think of a few more details of his background to tell Ginny; if nothing else, he’d need a decent explanation as to _how_ he possessed these abilities. Until the horcruxes were gone, he couldn’t tell anyone about the Mask; if information like that fell into the hands of the Death Eaters, they’d _all_ be in trouble…

“Oh,” Ginny said, simply. Then she looked at Mark curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking, how _can_ you…”

“Do all that stuff?” Mark said, smiling slightly at her; he’d come up with a basic idea, he just hoped that it would pass muster. “Well, it’s a funny story really; my father was working on a potion to enhance a wizard’s own natural powers- kind of like this muggle drug called steroids, but without any addiction or side-effects- when I was about four, and, well, he accidentally gave me some- the man is brilliant, but he’s so bloody absent-minded it’s unbelievable…”

“So… then what?” Ginny asked, looking at Mark curiously. “You’re saying that a potion your dad made gave you these powers? But I thought you said it just enhanced _wizard_ powers, not _give_ you the powers of… I don’t know what…”

“True, but he was never intending the potion to be given to a _four-year-old_ , was he?” Mark pointed out, raising a hand to stop Ginny’s little speech. “The effect on me was more… _dramatic_ than anyone was expecting; suffice it to say, things got more than a bit out of hand, and I ended up with all these powers and- for reasons nobody’s _ever_ been able to figure out- a bit of a facial disfiguration which necessitates me wearing this mask to help keep my powers under control.”

“Oh; it’s got some kind of Negating Charm on it?” Ginny asked, looking over at him inquiringly.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Mark said, shrugging.

The two of them then just lay back and looked up at the stars for a few minutes, and then Mark sighed and looked back at Ginny.

“Look, if it makes any difference, I’m sorry about avoiding your earlier queries about Harry,” he said, as Ginny turned to look back at him. “It’s just, well, he asked me not to talk about it; he’d prefer you just focused on trying to make a life for yourself until he’s done what he needs to do.”

“Bloody heroic idiot…” Ginny muttered to herself, so low that Mark could barely hear her.

Then her mind seemed to process the rest of what Mark had said, and she looked at him eagerly.

“You’ve seen Harry?” she asked. “I mean, you’ve seen him after he left the party?”

“Yeah, I did,” Mark said, nodding at her even as the part of him that was purely Mark was slightly hurt by her eagerness. After all, _he_ was here, and Harry _wasn’t_ here…

“He was just leaving the party when I showed up, actually,” Mark continued, deciding he’d worry about Ginny’s continued eagerness to learn about _Harry_ later; she was with _Mark_ now, and that was what mattered. “I asked him what was going on, he said something about needing to ‘attend to business’, and then asked me to keep in touch with him and let him know how things went. He just told me to send him an owl or something; no real ideas where he _is_ now, unfortunately.”

“Ah,” Ginny said, as her face fell slightly. Evidently, she’d been hoping that Mark might be able to put her in contact with Harry sometime…

“ _Anyway_ ,” Mark said, deciding he’d prefer they got back to a more immediate topic, “what happened with Ron and Hermione, anyway? I mean, after I gave them that little ‘hint’ during my singing number, I would hope they’re starting to get the message; am I right?”

Ginny just rolled her eyes. “You _really_ don’t know these guys, do you?” she asked, as she glanced over at her strange new… friend. “They enjoyed the dance, yeah, but then after reading this letter Harry left us, they _somehow_ ended up arguing about Ron’s headache from drinking too much firewhiskey, and then I _really_ don’t know what they did next, but I get the distinct impression that it wasn’t pretty…”

“Oh God…” Mark groaned, as he clasped his forehead with one hand and lay back down on the grass. “What do we have to _do_ to make them get the point, _lock them up_ or something?”

Ginny was about to agree, but then a thought occurred to her and she looked over at Mark with a slight smile on her face.

“Or maybe we could just set them up?” she asked, a wicked grin on her face.

“Wha?” Mark said, looking at her in confusion.

“Well, you’re pretty good with music, unless last night was a bit of a fluke?” Ginny asked. Mark nodded, and she continued. “Then couldn’t we get them to a certain place at a certain time, and you give them a song that makes them see that they need to stop being such total _idiots_ and get together?”

Mark smiled slightly as he looked at Ginny.

“That might just work…” he said thoughtfully, as he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“So you’ll help me organise it?” Ginny asked.

“Naturally!” Mark said, smiling over at her widely. “Let’s cover the obvious details of where and when first; I’ll take charge of what song on my own, and you can worry about getting them there since you know them better.”

“Seems fair enough,” Ginny said, nodding in agreement. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking the Leaky Cauldron in about, oh…” Mark paused, reached into his pocket, pulled out a small black book, flicked through it, and then glanced back at Ginny. “…a week’s time? I’d make it sooner, but I have some… family matters to attend to.”

Ginny looked slightly disappointed, but then just smiled at Mark reassuringly.

“Yeah, that sounds OK,” she said, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Just one thing… you sure that Tom won’t mind about us using his pub for this?”

Mark shrugged. “I’ve got a bit of cash to splash; I’m sure I’ll manage to find enough to make up for any inconvenience that might be caused,” he said reassuringly, as he stood up, stretched briefly, and then held out a hand to haul her to her feet. “Anyway, I’d better be taking you home; any later, and your parents may be wondering why you’re so tired in the morning.”

Ginny nodded, a slightly regretful expression in her eyes; it was obvious that, like Mark, she wasn’t ready for this night to end just yet.

* * *

  
A few minutes later, Mark’s carpet had stopped outside Ginny’s window, and the young redhead had clambered back into her room before turning back to look at Mark, who was now dressed in a more contemporary outfit; black leather coat, blue jeans and a blue shirt.

“Thanks for the night,” she said to him after a moment’s pause, smiling at him. “I had a good time.”

“Yeah, me too,” Mark replied, grinning back at her. “I’ll see in a week at the Cauldron; I’ll let you know if anything comes up beforehand, OK?”

Ginny smiled and pecked him briefly on the lips.

“Sure,” she said, as she pulled back. “See you in a week.”

As Mark flew away on the carpet, Ginny groaned and collapsed back onto the bed, her hands over her eyes in despair.

“God, what is the _matter_ with me…” she muttered to herself. Even after spending an entire evening with Mark Tiller… even after talking to him about all kinds of topics… even after seeing all kinds of exotic locations with him by her side… even after _kissing_ him, for crying out loud….

She _still_ couldn’t get Harry Potter out of her mind!

_He’s gone_! she mentally berated herself. _He told you to make a life for yourself while he was away, and you’re doing that! STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!_

But even as she thought that, she knew that she couldn’t.

And she just wished she knew why even Mark’s _kisses_ made her think of Harry…

* * *

  
Several miles away, and not much more than half an hour later, Mark landed in Dumbledore’s office, stepped off the carpet (Which vanished as soon as his feet were on the ground), reached up, grabbed the line at the back of his head where the Mask closed over his face, pulled at it…

And then, after a brief whirl of green energy, Harry Potter was once again standing in the middle of the room. Off in one corner, Fawkes gave a brief trill of welcome as Harry tossed the Mask onto the desk, and Harry smiled at the phoenix. Fawkes may not be much in the way of company if you wanted to have a conversation about something, but he was company, and right now that was all Harry asked for.

“Hi there,” he said, walking over to the phoenix and stroking the bird’s chest feathers, Fawkes trilling gently at the contact. Dumbledore’s portrait was currently empty, so they had the office to themselves, a fact of which Harry was grateful; he hadn’t wanted to bring the headmaster into his now-rather-complex romantic life. “Good night?”

Fawkes tilted his head in what could almost be a nod, and Harry smiled back at the phoenix.

“I just wish it could always be this easy, you know?” he said, as he sat down in a nearby chair and looked up at Fawkes. “I mean, all the power at my disposal thanks to this thing-” he reached over and picked up the Mask, staring at its blank eyes for a few moments before turning back to look at Fawkes, “and I _still_ don’t have any way of working out who ‘R.A.B.’ is.”

Fawkes looked at Harry for a few moments, and then, much to Harry’s surprise, he flew up to a nearby bookshelf, tugged a book out with his beak, caught it in his talons as it slipped off the shelf, and then flew back towards the increasingly puzzled Harry, dropping it into his hand.

“What the…?” Harry muttered, as he glanced at the book’s title- apparently it was the _Hogwarts Year Book- 197*_ -, opened it at random…

And his eyes widened as he saw the name written on the page in front of him, leaping onto his eyes as though it had been fired from a gun to emblazon itself across his mind and brain.

_Regulus Artemis Black._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a * on the last letter because I’m not entirely sure when Regulus would have left Hogwarts, save that it should be some time in around the late sixties or early to mid-seventies, if he served under Voldemort in the early days and we assume that Voldemort ‘died’ in 1981


	10. The Locket Horcrux

Over the next few hours of research- showing a diligence that would have made _Hermione_ look inattentive by comparison- the more Harry studied the information available to him, the more he found weight to support his theory as to the identity of R.A.B., each point jotted down on an ever-expanding list as he looked over the facts that he already possessed about the individual in question.

1\. R.A.B. referred to Voldemort as ‘the Dark Lord’- a title only used by Death Eaters- and Regulus had been a Death Eater for over a year before he was killed.  
2\. R.A.B. must have been relatively close to Voldemort to have learned about the horcruxes; Regulus, according to Sirius, had ‘ _got in so far and then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out_ ’- could the horcruxes have been the explanation for his withdrawal?  
3\. R.A.B. would have needed a dark magical background to know about horcruxes; the Black family were so keen on blood supremacy and power that they probably had the _book_ on preparing things like that, even if they didn’t actually _use_ the ‘instructions’ themselves  
4\. R.A.B. would have needed a secure location to keep the horcrux having taken it; Grimmauld Place had a great deal of wards and protective spells on it even _before_ it became the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix (Besides, even if someone was able to work out that the horcrux was there, how could one specific dark object have been detected amid all the other dark objects in that house?)  
5\. R.A.B. could not have reached the locket on his own, and would thus have required help from something magical that, at the same time, wasn’t a fully-qualified wizard; as a member of the Black family, Regulus could have commanded Kreacher to help him…

And that was as far as Harry had managed to get in his list so far.

He knew what the next step _should_ have been, of course- talk to Kreacher and try and find out what had happened to the locket if his theory was correct- but, having figured out so much on his own so far, Harry preferred to give himself a little more time before throwing in the towel and asking for help, especially from the very _thing_ that had caused Sirius’s death, however indirectly.

He just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something that he was missing in his deductions, something important…

“Come on, Harry, _think_ …” he muttered to himself, slapping himself sharply on the forehead to try and help himself concentrate. He wasn’t exactly Sherlock Holmes when it came to detective work, but he’d managed to work out how everyone had survived facing the basilisk in his second year, hadn’t he? “What have you missed…?”

His ‘trick’ to focus his thinking didn’t really seem to be working; all he found himself thinking about was Ginny, and Sirius, and the fact that it was now almost two years to the day since the first time he stepped inside Grimmauld Place, and had been filled in on the Black family history by Sirius, and helped everyone clear Grimmauld Place of all that crap that had gathered in it over the years… All the old Black family heirlooms that had been thrown out…

Harry’s eyes widened.

Reaching into a nearby drawer, he pulled out the false locket (Which he’d deposited in here as soon as he had the chance, not wanting to keep it himself) and stared at it. He’d thought it had seemed slightly familiar when he’d first seen it, but at the time he’d been more concerned with Dumbledore’s health after drinking that terrible potion and the subsequent escape back to Hogwarts…

And now he remembered.

When they’d been clearing out Grimmauld Place, one of the more annoying heirlooms (One of the few that they hadn’t been able to identify no matter how hard they tried) had been a heavy silver locket that none of them could open. Harry had only seen it for a while before everyone had given it up as a waste of effort and tossed it away.

Now that Harry thought about, he hadn’t _seen_ it later on when he and Ginny had taken the box out and thrown it into the nearest fire. Of course, that meant that either the locket had never fallen into the box in the first place, or Kreacher had saved it. Either way, the odds were good that the locket- if it _was_ a horcrux- was still in Grimmauld Place.

There was only one possible detail that Harry had to take account of in his reasoning that could tell against that theory; namely, the possibility that Mundungus Fletcher had found the locket on his little ‘raid’ after Sirius’s death and already sold it off…

“Wait a minute…” Harry muttered to himself, attracting an inquiring look from Fawkes as he got up and began to pace. “Mundungus was selling Black heirlooms in Hogsmeade… he’d just made a deal with the barman… the guy was drawing up his cloak as he began to walk away…”

Coming to a decision, Harry reached over to the table where he’d left the Mask lying earlier. He knew that the odds of his theory being correct were slim to none, of course, but right now Hogsmeade was the nearer location of the two possibilities, and he didn’t feel like making the long journey to Grimmauld Place at this time of night.

He placed the Mask on his face, there was a brief swirl of green energy, and then the ever-wacky form of Mark was standing in the study, dressed in a grey sweatsuit with an elaborate assortment of equipment strapped to his back and some kind of gun on his waist that was connected to the backpack via a tube.

“Who you gonna call?” he asked, smiling around at the various paintings in the office. “GHOSTBUSTERS!”

Then he leapt out of the window, spinning even as he left the office, and, when he was outside, he was wearing an red outfit with a long white patch running down the middle and large white wings stretching out from his shoulders. Spreading his wings, he dived down towards the glittering lights that were the main indication of the presence of Hogsmeade. He knew there were faster ways to get to the village, of course- apparation was near the top of the list; he doubted the wards around Hogwarts had been designed to stop a _god_ from getting anywhere- but he preferred the freedom that flight offered him.

* * *

  
A few minutes later, Mark had landed in front of the Hog’s Head, spun around to change back into his favoured leather coat, and was walking up to the pub, one hand in his pocket as though concealing something. Raising the other hand, he knocked politely on the door and waited for a moment or two for someone to answer.

Eventually, the door opened and the Hog’s Head barman glanced out. Once again, Mark was struck by a feeling of familiarity- change the beard and make the head a bit narrower (among other changes) and it could almost be the face of someone he knew- but he shook it off; he had other matters to attend to right now.

“Yes?” the barman asked, glaring slightly at him. “If you’re here for a drink, we’re closed.”

Mark shook his head slightly. “I’m not here for a ‘drink’, my good sir,” he said, smiling casually at the other man. “I’m looking for a little something that used to belong to the Gaunt family; I have evidence that suggests you may have come into possession of it?”

The man stared critically back at Mark, before raising an enquiring eyebrow.

“And you are?” he asked, looking at Mark’s rather remarkable appearance.

Mark shrugged. “I’m just a… concerned citizen, shall we say, who has a vested interest in ensuring that the artefact is recovered,” he said, looking at the man. “Trust me on this; it’ll be safer in my custody.”

The man glared at him briefly, and then sighed.

“All right, come in,” he said, sighing as he opened the door of the pub and waved Mark in.

“So, what’s so special about this locket?” he asked, looking at Mark inquiringly.

“Well-” Mark began, but then froze and stared at the bartender in confusion.

“I never mentioned a locket,” he said, looking at the barman in confusion. “I just said that I was looking for an artefact of the Gaunt family; how could you know what it was that I was interested in?”

The barman just smiled.

“Simple, you green-headed fool,” he said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wand. “I was the one who made this ‘artefact’ what it was now.”

Mark’s eyes widened in horror.

“R… Riddle?” he asked, looking at the man in front of him. Even as he spoke, he was kicking himself; heknew from the _diary_ that horcruxes could take people over, why hadn’t he thought about the possibility that this one would have done the same?

_Maybe because you don’t want to remember nearly losing Ginny before you even knew how special she was_ … a part of him thought, but he threw it to the side; he had other matters right now.

“Don’t call me that,” the possessed barman growled, as he stared at his nemesis. “If you know anything about me, you’ll know that I discarded that name long ago.”

Mark rolled his eyes dismissively as he stared back at the barman. He wasn’t especially concerned, to be honest; no matter how skilled this guy was, Mark could probably handle him without even having to resort to his ‘extra’ talents that the Mask gave him. He’d tried a couple of spells while wearing the Mask in Dumbledore’s office, and had been interested in noting that the spells were significantly more powerful than they would have been if he’d attempted the spells as himself; he could probably even manage non-verbal magic easily.

He just wished he wasn’t about to test this theory in combat…

“So, how’d you do it?” he asked, leaning casually back against the wall as he stared at his new adversary inquiringly. “Take over this guy’s body, I mean; I know the diary could do it, but you needed someone to write in that, so how does it work with something like a _locket_?”

“My soul possesses the user as it is used for what the object in question was originally intended to be used for,” ‘Riddle’ explained as he glared at Mark. “All this man needed to do was wear the locket, and he gave me the access I needed to possess his body and use it for my own. Oh, it was erratic at first, but once he had spent enough time in contact with the locket, I could take him over at any time I wished, my time in charge gradually increasing at my power grew.”

“He doesn’t know, I take it?” Mark asked, trying to casually slid one hand into the inside coat pocket where he’d left his wand as he stared at ‘Riddle’; the fact that his arms were folded would help to conceal the action in question, but he didn’t want to provoke Riddle before he was ready to retaliate.

“No, he remains ignorant of my presence in his head,” ‘Riddle’ replied, as he smiled at Harry. “I always time my possessions for moments when he’s doing otherwise menial activities; any memory lapses that occur are generally attributed to the generally repetitive nature of the duties in question allowing him to operate in an almost automatic motion.”

He chuckled as he glared at Mark. “And now it’s time for you to die.”

Mark was already a step ahead of him. As soon as ‘Riddle’ had raised his wand, Mark had whipped out his own and called out “ _Expelliarmus_!” before his opponent could even open his mouth. Unfortunately, the spell didn’t quite do what Harry was hoping it would; it struck his adversary, but the force of the spell was so great that, rather than just knock the wand out of ‘Riddle’s’ hand, it sent him flying backwards; ‘Riddle’ apparently instinctively tightened his grip on the wand as he flew back.

Hitting the wall behind him with an unpleasant-sounding crunch, ‘Riddle’ slumped to the floor, face first, one arm twisted at an odd angle. Mark began to move forward to take the locket, but as soon as he had moved two steps, ‘Riddle’ was back on his feet, his left arm tucked into his side as he glared at Mark.

“You’re good,” he grunted, as he glared at the god-powered young wizard before him. “But you don’t have the courage to do what is necessary.”

“What, you mean kill you?” Mark asked, smiling casually as he looked at his foe. “I think you’ll find that I’m perfectly prepared to do that; I’m not just interested in taking the other guy down with you when I do it.”

Raising his wand again, he glared at ‘Riddle’ angrily. “Now look; either you give up now and I make it quick, or you keep trying this and things get ugly. What’s it going to be?”

Evidently, ‘Riddle’ wans’t in the mood for talking; he just raised his wand, pointed it at Mark, and cried out, “ _Avada Kedavra_!” Before the Killing Curse could even reach him, Mark had spun around rapidly once again, reemerging dressed in a blue outfit with gold gloves and a long red cape with gold trim, raised his hands, waved them about in a seemingly random pattern, and suddenly there was a massive shield in front of him that actually _blocked_ the killing curse before it could hit him.

“NO!” ‘Riddle’ cried, as the shield faded and Mark spun around to change back into his leather coat and jeans. “Impossible!”

Chuckling slightly, Mark spun around again, this time reappearing wearing a black business suit and glasses.

“No, Mr Anderson,” he said in a deep voice, as he glared at ‘Riddle’ through his glasses. “Inevitable.”

Then another brief whirlwind changed him back into his more familiar self, and he grinned wickedly at ‘Riddle’.

“Still want to tango with me?” he asked nonchalantly, as though he’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

“ _CRUCIO_!” ‘Riddle’ screamed as he pointed the wand at Mark again. Desperately, Mark dived out of the path of the spell and, raising his own wand, launched a spell at his foe that pinned his legs together and his arms to his side, sending ‘Riddle’ collapsing to the ground, flat on his front, looking up at Mark with hatred and confusion in his eyes.

“Non-verbal Body-Bind, Tommy m’boy,” Mark said, smiling as he pocketed his wand and walked over to his foe. Crouching down, he casually removed the locket from ‘Riddle’s’ neck, and watched as the hatred faded from his eyes to be replaced with confusion; evidently, ‘Riddle’ was still tied to the locket rather than the host.

“Whatever your name is,” Mark said, looking at the man apologetically, “I’m sorry for having to destroy this, but trust me; no matter its value as an artefact, you’re better off if I just shatter it now. If you get that, just look up and down, couldya?”

The man’s eyes glanced up and down rapidly, and Mark smiled gratefully at him.

“Thanks,” he said, as he raid the locket on the ground before him and pulled a large hammer out of his pocket. Raising it above his head, he brought it down hard on the locket, and watched in satisfaction as a green light emitted from underneath the hammer, floating upwards like smoke, before it vanished into the air.

Smiling, Mark slid the hammer back into his pocket, turned back to look at the barman, and pulled out his wand once again.

“ _Finite Incantatem_!” he cried, and the man stood up, although he was still favouring his right arm.

“Th… thank you…” he said, looking at Mark as he panted weakly. “I cannot… be sure what…. has just happened… but I can take… a few guesses. Possession?”

“Of a sort,” Mark said, nodding apologetically. “I’ll have someone from St Mungo’s come over to take a look at you as soon as possible; I’d stick around myself, but, well, I’ve got some stuff I should maybe be getting along with.”

He patted the man reassuringly on the shoulder. “I’ll check in with you later, Mr…”

He paused and grinned sheepishly at the barman. “Sorry; I don’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it,” the man replied, chuckling slightly. “It’s Aberforth, by the way.”

Mark’s eyes nearly widened and that, but he stopped himself in time; he didn’t want to give away any hints as to his identity, and how many people would know about Dumbledore’s brother?

He made a mental note to remember to ask Aberforth about the improper charms on a goat at some later date, and then turned around and walked out of the bar.

“See you!” he called back over his shoulder, before he popped out of existence…

* * *

  
And reappeared in Dumbledore’s office, looking critically at the headmaster’s portrait as Fawkes looked inquiringly at him.

“You couldn’t have mentioned that your brother is the Hog’s Head barman?” he asked, tapping a foot impatiently as he stared at the portrait. “That _might_ have been nice to know, you know!”

Dumbledore chuckled slightly. “Yes, Aberforth’s occupation can be a surprise when you first learn of it, but I assure you that he enjoys his work. Besides, he can be a valuable source of information when required-”

“And yet he never mentioned coming into the possession of an ornate locket?” Mark asked, staring at the portrait critically. “Couldn’t he have at least _mentioned_ to you that he was buying things from Mungdungus? He must have known about the Grimmauld Place thing!”

“Even brothers have their secrets, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, as he stared critically at the young wizard/technically-god before him. “And are you really prepared to begrudge Aberforth not mentioning things to me when you have not even told your closest friends about your latest acquisition?”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Mark said, changing the subject as he glared harshly at Dumbledore, “what do I do now? Where’s the next horcrux likely to be?”

Dumbledore glared at Mark briefly before replying.

“Whatever it is, Harry, you should not go looking for it before you have had a chance to rest,” he said, holding up a hand as Mark opened his mouth to protest. “Regardless of what powers you may now possess, you cannot let yourself become too focused on one task, and forget to live the life you possess. You have already made significant progress in the battle against Voldemort; he has only two horcruxes left now. You can afford to take a rest from this ‘hunt’ of yours and relax.”

He smiled slightly as he glanced upwards. “Besides, I feel that your parents would want you to ‘get your own back’, as I believe the phrase is, on certain individuals.”

Mark just nodded thoughtfully as Dumbledore looked at him, but he had to admit, his old friend had a point. Oh, he wouldn’t be ‘getting his own back’ on the Dursleys, of course- just leaving Dudley the way he was would be life without parole- but there were a few _others_ who’d been major pains in the neck recently who he wouldn’t mind getting even with…

_And it will begin tomorrow evening…_ Mark vowed to himself smiling broadly at the thought.


	11. Payback's a Mask

A couple of nights later, as Mark stood outside the phone box that concealed the secret entrance to the Ministry of Magic, clad in his favoured outfit of jeans and the leather coat, he chuckled slightly as he tucked his wand up his sleeve and walked into the box.

He knew that this whole expedition was a bit self-centred- after all, it wouldn’t really _change_ anything for him, and there were still two horcruxes out there- but he felt like he owed himself a little payback for what his three targets had done to him (Even if one had been relatively minor, his insults to Ron and Hermione shouldn’t go unnoticed), so why shouldn’t he be entitled to a little bit of time getting even?

Stepping into the phone box, Mark casually picked up the receiver, tapped the required digits- six two four four two- and then smiled as the woman spoke.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Mark Tiller,” Mark said casually, as he grinned around the box. “I have… _business_ , shall we say?… that must be discussed with Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge; just put me down as being here for a business meeting.”

“Thank you,” the woman responded. “Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.” A silver badge dropped into the coin collection area, with _Mark Tiller, Business Meeting_ written on it, but Mark just picked up the badge and stuffed it into his pocket; he wouldn’t need to concern himself with basic formalities.

“Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium,” the voice said, but Mark was only partly paying attention; he’d already pulled his father’s cloak out of his pocket and shrugged it over his head, while simultaneously slipping on a pair of magic-based ‘infra-red’ glasses that would allow him to spot any defences that might be triggered by the cloak.

As soon as the door had opened, Mark had nipped out of it into the Atrium (Now with the fountain centrepiece reconstructed, although the fireplaces seemed just as busy as they had been on his first visit) and ran down the long corridor towards the golden gates that led to the lifts. Diving into the nearest one, using a quick Shield Charm to prevent anyone joining him, Mark quickly shut the door and began to scan the buttons for floors. He finally settled on Level One, the office of the Minister of Magic, as his destination- after all, Fudge had been retained as an advisor for the duration of the war, so why shouldn’t Umbridge be up there as well?

As the lift reached the level in question- other calls for the lift being negated by Mark- he stepped out of the lift, and was relieved to see Umbridge’s name on one of the doors in front of him; there were around six relatively plain doors on either side of the elaborate wooden corridor he now found himself in, with a more elaborately-carved door at the end of the room that had to be Scrimgeour’s office.

Chuckling, Mark spun around once and headed for the door, his fingers twitching as he reached into his pocket.

_Oh, I’m going to enjoy this…_

* * *

  
If anyone had asked Dolores Umbridge what had happened that night in the future, she would have been unable to give an effective reply. One minute she was simply consulting paperwork, trying to get through business as fast as possible, and suddenly the lights in her office had all gone out, the door had been kicked open, and a tall figure dressed in a massive coat and wide-brimmed hat was standing at the door, a brilliant white light behind him that made his features next to impossible to make out. She vaguely noticed something smoking in his raised right hand that appeared to be a cigarette, but other than that this man was just a silhouette.

“Wh-who are you?” she asked, staring at this figure in confusion, before shaking her head and regaining her composure. “I mean, _who_ are you and _how_ did you get in here?”

“Who I am is not important, Miss Umbridge,” the figure replied, its voice a deep, rumbling sound that resembled a minor earthquake that was dying down. “All that is important is the reason for my visit.”

“And that is?” Umbridge asked, regaining some of her composure as she stood up to glare at this intruder.

“Why, Miss Umbridge,” the man replied, chuckling slightly as he tossed his cigarette aside and walked towards her. “I am here to collect on a debt that you owe to my master.”

“What ‘debt’ would this be?” Umbridge asked, snorting disdainfully. “I have no outstanding debts with anyone!”

“Incorrect,” the man chuckled, as he raised his hands to grasp his coat collars. “You owe my master…”

And here he yanked the coat open, revealing a mass of flames that seemed to erupt from the coat pockets, screams coming from all around as large red claws reached from the coat to snatch randomly at Umbridge.

“YOUR SOUL!” the man yelled, the blood rapidly fleeing from Umbridge’s face, leaving her perfectly white as she stared at him in horror…

Then the man closed his coat, the light behind him vanished, and suddenly he was dressed in a three-quarter-length black leather coat, dark blue jeans and a blue-and-cream checked shirt, grinning at her in a manner that might have been charming if it weren’t for his bizarre green head and the fact that Umbridge was still shaken from his earlier trick.

“Nah, I’m just kidding ya; I’m _not_ an agent of Satan,” he said, grinning at her.

Then he lunged forward, grabbed her by the neck, and had her pinned to the wall in a moment; despite his apparently slight build, he was easily able to hold her off the ground. She opened her mouth to protest, but before anything could even pass her lips, the man had waved his hand and suddenly a metal mask was covering the entire lower half of her face, preventing her jaw from moving enough to get any sound out.

“Actually, I’m here on behalf of Hogwarts as a whole,” the man said, glaring at her as she coughed slightly, her fat hands scratching at his own to try and make him loosen his grip. “You tormented that school a _great_ deal, Miss Umbridge; consider me…”

He pulled a thin scalpel out of his pocket with his left hand, grinning wickedly as her eyes focused on it.

“Payback,” he said simply, as Umbridge’s eyes widened in horror.

Looking over at the scalpel in his hand, the man tapped it slightly with his forefinger as he stared back at Umbridge, one eyebrow raised as he contemplated his next action.

“Now, the question right now is, am I skilled enough to use this without leaving any permanent damage, or would I cut a vein or two while I’m making my mark?” he asked, as easily as though he was discussing the weather rather than something that could mean life-or-death for someone. “And the answer is… I just don’t know.”

For a moment, as he held the scalpel over the back of her hand, Umbridge looked like she wanted to scream even _before_ he’d begun to cut into her skin…

And then, with no apparent transition between the two, she was suddenly held to the wall by various assorted straps, the man was standing in front of her holding two red cans of spray-paint, and every single visible piece of skin and hair, along with all her clothes, was covered in the words I AM A TWAT.

“Fortunately,” the man said, grinning at her, “I’m not like you, and see no need to inflict _actual_ physical punishment on you; just don’t push me by trying to get back into Hogwarts so you can try something like that again.

“Oh, nor did I feel the need to risk psychological trauma by covering the parts of you that I _couldn’t_ see,” he added, shuddering slightly. “God, I don’t even like to _joke_ about it…”

Then he sighed, tossed the cans aside, and smiled up at her. “Must dash; got some other business to attend to.”

Then he nodded politely at her, raised his left hand, clicked his fingers, and vanished, leaving Umbridge pinned to the wall and staring around her in shock, as though unable to believe that something like this could happen to _her_ …

* * *

  
If Fudge was honest with himself, he had to admit that, in some ways, he actually preferred his new job as an advisor to the current Minister than actually being Minister himself. Say what you liked about being Minister for Magic, the paperwork involved in the job could be tedious after a while. He may not have the same status as he did before, but at least the workload was lighter…

“Having fun?” a voice said from behind him as something thin and wooden pointed at the back of his head.

His eyes widening in surprise, Fudge automatically sat up straighter in his chair, at the same time trying to think of how someone could have arrived behind him without him noticing it.

“W-who is this?” he asked, briefly trying to turn his head to look around, but being stopped by a sharp jab in the back of the head from the object.

“Who am I?” the voice said, chuckling as he looked at Fudge. “Let us merely say that I… am retribution.”

As Fudge tensed slightly, the man chuckled. “Oh, I’m not going to _kill_ you, Minister; where’d the fun be in that?” he said, sounding as though he was genuinely enjoying this meeting. “Besides, I see no need to kill you; you may have messed up during war-time, but you at least kept us stable in the intervening years.”

Fudge nearly relaxed at that, but the object behind him poked him sharply in the back of the head and he winced once again.

“ _However_ ,” the voice said, sounding like it wanted to growl, “there _are_ one or two things that you need to make up for…”

* * *

  
Sighing as he checked over the forms in front of him, Kingsley Shacklebolt couldn’t stop himself from wishing that the situation from a year ago had remained the same for longer and Sirius hadn’t been killed and subsequently cleared of all charges.

True, he was grateful for his friend being declared innocent, but without the somewhat humorous distraction of misdirecting the hunt for Sirius to focus on random areas in the world, there wasn’t really much else to do, particularly since protection of the Prime Minister had recently been temporarily transferred to another auror while he took a break under orders.

What with Voldemort’s traditional attack strategy involving hit-and-run missions rather than actual open warfare, there was rarely call for aurors to be in certain locations unless they had a prior warning about the attack, and without Snape as a spy…

Shacklebolt growled in his throat as he clenched his fist.

Even after nearly a month, he still hated thinking about that bastard. All that time he’d been helping them, he’d been passing information over to the other side without anyone being any the wiser, and they’d practically opened the door and handed him the keys to all the information he needed…

Shacklebolt’s train of thought was suddenly broken by a loud scream of terror that seemed to resound through the entire Ministry, and then he, along with several others (Mainly members of the Order of the Phoenix, he noted, recognising Tonks and Arthur Weasley among the gathering) were standing around a large stage that had been erected in the middle of the main entrance, where a green-headed figure dressed in leather and denim was standing, illuminated by a spotlight as he smiled around at everyone.

“Good evening, everyone!” the man said, apparently paying close attention to Shacklebolt and Arthur in particular before he turned back to address the others. “You won’t know me, but I’ve been keeping an eye on things taking place in this Ministry recently, and I felt as though… certain individuals should have one last little experience before they could truly be called ‘forgiven’.”

Raising one hand, he grinned around at the confused audience.

“Enjoy the show,” he said, as he clicked his fingers, vanished (Much to Shacklebolt’s confusion; it wasn’t possible to apparate inside the Ministry to his knowledge) and then, much to Shacklebolt’s surprise, Minister Fudge appeared on the stage, dressed in some kind of bizarre outfit in terribly clashing colours, a microphone in front of him and a terrified expression on his face as he stared around at the people in front of him, before his mouth opened and he began to sing. _“(Hey, Pachuco)  
(Hey) Summer '43  
(Hey) The man's gunnin' for me  
(Hey) Blue and white mean war tonight_ _”(Hey) They say damn my pride  
(Hey) And all the other cats livin' down the east side  
(Hey) And that there's no place to hide”_

The song went on after that, but, like the rest of the people around him, Shacklebolt wasn’t really paying attention; he was too busy breaking down with laughter at the sight of the horrified minister in front of him, prancing around in a ridiculous costume with an expression that resembled someone looking down into the pits of Hell itself.

_And I was complaining about being_ bored _earlier_? Shacklebolt asked himself, noticing Arthur slapping the floor as tears of hilarity streamed down his face.

* * *

  
Staring at the door in front of him, Mark chuckled slightly.

In many ways, _this_ was the one he’d been looking forward to the most. True, the other two had done more to him, but it was the principle of the thing, really. Quidditch was the first thing he’d ever been really _good_ at, and this _berk_ had gone and nearly _ruined_ it for him…

And, of course, his treatment of Hermione, coupled with his arrogant behaviour, had done little to endear him to Harry.

Knocking on the door of the rather elaborate house (Evidently this guy’s parents were also fairly well-off, although his uncle had been the main earner in the family), Mark smiled casually as the door opened and a woman stood at the door who was most likely his target’s mother.

“Yes?” she said, looking at Mark in confusion.

“Mrs McLaggen?” he asked, smiling casually. “Mark Tiller- sorry about my face; I had an unfortunate potions accident recently- I’m here to see your son, Cormac; it concerns a Quidditch matter.”

“Oh, really?” Mrs McLaggen said, smiling at him gratefully. “Which team are you from, anyway; Puddlemere United or the Wimbourne Wasps?”

“Wasps,” Mark replied casually, inwardly fuming at McLaggen’s arrogance in applying for a spot on the Puddlemere team. He _knew_ that team was excellent; there was no _way_ he could believe he’d be better in the team than any of the current players…?

“Just get him out here and I’ll have a quick word with him,” he said casually, leaning against a pillar near the door. “Trust me; he’ll be back before you know it.”

Nodding, Mrs McLaggen shut the door, and a few moments later, her son was at the door, looking at Mark with a slightly eager gleam in his eyes that was tempered by a more casual appearance overall; evidently he thought he’d been a definite to be accepted.

“My application made it then, I see,” he said, looking at Mark casually.

“ _Actually_ , Mr McLaggen,” Mark replied, looking back at the one-time Gryffindor Keeper critically, “I have a confession to make; I am _not_ here from the Wimbourne Wasps. As a matter of fact, I doubt you’ll be getting accepted whatever position you applied for; you’d probably just get there, start going on about how you’re a one-man team, and get booted for being the arrogant berk that you are.”

Chuckling at the shocked expression on McLaggen’s face, Mark pulled a coin out of his pocket and began to roll it around the fingers of his left hand, enjoying McLaggen’s suddenly shaken expression.

“In reality,” Mark said, as he casually studied the coin in his hand, “I am simply here to extract payback for your idiotic behaviour during your brief session on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, where your pig-headedness nearly cost my friend Harry his life and _also_ nearly cost the team the cup.”

“Hey; that wasn’t my fault!” McLaggen yelled back at Mark, apparently coming out of his earlier stupor. “If Harry had just made me Keeper in the first place-”

“You’d what; have mucked up all _three_ games and have the team end up in last place?” Mark retaliated, glaring at McLaggen in rage; he couldn’t _believe_ the sheer _arrogance_ of this _prick_! “Face facts, Cormac; you _suck_ at Quidditch, OK? You can be as good a Keeper as you like, but unless you can learn how to work in a _team_ , you’ll never get anywhere!”

Then, as though a thought had just occurred to him, he glanced at the coin in his left hand, flipped it onto his thumb, and glanced at McLaggen.

“Heads or tails?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Uh… tails?” McLaggen said in confusion.

Flipping the coin up into the air, Mark caught it, slapped it onto his right palm, examined it, and smiled.

“Nope; heads,” he said, looking back at McLaggen with a teasing grin on his face. “Not that it makes a blind bit of difference, really; I’ve just always wanted to try that. Now then, let’s see…”

Raising his right hand, he clicked his fingers once…

* * *

  
And suddenly McLaggen found himself floating in the middle of the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, a Beater’s bat in one hand as he suddenly found himself facing Mark Tiller, hovering leisurely on a Firebolt as six other brooms flew around him, moving so fast that McLaggen couldn’t make out any of the figures on them.

“Wh-what the?” McLaggen said, looking around in confusion.

Mark smiled casually at the other man.

“You think you can play a game of Quidditch on your own?” he asked in a relaxed manner as he looked at McLaggen. “Prove it.”

And then, all of a sudden, all six of the other ‘players’ were flying around McLaggen at top speed, tearing around him as he tried desperately to come up with some way of holding them off. He managed to hold off a few bludgers at first, but he quickly realised that this left the hoops undefended and the opposition had scored a few shots without him even realising. His subsequent attempts to score goals only resulted in the quaffle being knocked out of his hands by well-aimed bludgers as his attention was occupied, and his own attempts to defend goals were abysmal without any beaters to keep the other chasers occupied. He was so taken up with trying to evade the bludgers that he never even realised Mark had caught the snitch already until he saw his green-headed adversary smiling over at him and waving the golden ball in his face.

McLaggen opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a bludger suddenly striking him in the arm with such force that the bone broke in half, sending him flying off his broom. He vaguely felt, rather than saw, the other six plays fly around him to stop his fall, but they didn’t appear too concerned about his safety; he sustained several cuts and bruises before he was finally standing on the ground, although the broken arm was still his most serious injury.

As Mark landed on the ground beside McLaggen, the former Keeper turned to look at Mark in rage.

“What the _hell_ was that all about?” he asked, staring at Mark angrily. “You could have _killed_ me!”

“You needed a lesson, Mr McLaggen,” Mark retorted, his face as impassive as though it was made of stone. “I knew what I was doing; you’ll need a check-over, but you’ll be fine with a bit of rest.”

Grabbing McLaggen’s arm, Mark clicked his fingers once again, and they were both standing outside McLaggen’s house once again, McLaggen looking around him in confusion.

“But… but…” he began.

Sighing, Mark pointed at the door behind him.

“Get in there, get healed, get a life, and find something to do that _doesn’t_ involve Quidditch,” he said simply. “Trust me, you’ll be doing yourself a favour; you suck. And remember; if you _ever_ act like such an arrogant _prick_ again, I will find you, and what happened tonight will seem like a relaxing bath.”

Clicking his fingers, he turned himself invisible while simultaneously appearing to vanish, leaving McLaggen to stare blankly ahead with a mix of terror and confusion, before clutching his arm and turning back to the house; evidently the man was at least willing to take _some_ advice from others.

As McLaggen staggered back through the door, to screams of horror as his mother saw his various injuries, Mark chuckled under his breath.

_God, that was_ great! he thought to himself as he glanced up at the sky in thanks to any Norse gods of mischief who might be watching him at the moment for creating the Mask that had made all that possible.

_Now that the fun’s out of the way_ , Mark thought to himself as he glanced down at a watch, _time to get down to more important things_.

Namely, of course, arranging his and Ginny’s plan to set Ron and Hermione up with each other, and then track down and destroy the last unidentified horcrux.

And after that…

Mark shrugged.

_What will be, will be_.


	12. Song 4 Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Song 4 Lovers’ was released by Liberty X, so that’s obviously not mine either

A few days later, the Mask hidden under his jacket, Harry was standing in a side street near the Leaky Cauldron, impatiently checking his watch as he waited for the sun to set so he could put the Mask on and go in. It had been a few days since his last outing with the Mask on his little payback jaunt, and since then he had been pouring over the information he’d already gathered about the horcruxes, trying to figure out a way of finding the last one. He’d kept a few pieces of the already-destroyed horcruxes on him, in the hope that they might give him an idea to that effect, but so far it had al been to no avail; nothing had come to mind, and any locations that had seemed likely hidey-holes for the horcruxes had always had some kind of problem with them.

Even if he _hadn’t_ been able to see his closest friends on this little jaunt (Even if it was from behind the Mask), he’d probably have come here for a couple of hours to take a break from that crap anyway. If he checked out _one more_ site of one of Voldemort’s old victories only to come back with nothing, he’d be ready to kill something…

He just hoped that this little jaunt went according to plan. If Ron and Hermione didn’t work out how they felt about each other soon, _somebody_ was going to get hurt, and he still wasn’t sure if it would be physically or emotionally; given the war they were currently dealing with, it wouldn’t be impossible for one of the two to be killed before they could tell the other how they felt.

Harry wouldn’t allow that.

He may not be able to be with Ginny as himself, but Ron and Hermione _were_ going to get together if he had anything to say about it.

_Or rather, if_ Mark _has anything to_ sing _about it_ , Harry thought jokingly to himself. He still wasn’t quite sure what song his alter-ego was planning to sing to pull this off- they were separate enough to stop either of them knowing what the other was planning unless it was implicitly stated- but he was fairly sure that, whatever it was, _none_ of the people in the Leaky Cauldron right now would forget it.

As the sun finally set, he smiled, raised the Mask to his face…

* * *

  
Inside the Leaky Cauldron, sitting at a barstool drinking the bottle of butterbeer she’d purchased shortly after her arrival, Ginny was relieved to see Mark’s distinctive green-and-leather form enter the door in a brief green whirlwind (She still wasn’t sure _how_ he did that trick), wave politely at the confused barman, and then walk over to her table and sit down beside her.

“Hi,” he said, grinning at her politely. “Sorry if I’m a bit late; some stuff came up that stopped me getting here sooner.”

Ginny shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s fine,” she said in an equally offhand manner. “So, you managed to make the arrangements we discussed?”

(She was fairly sure she knew the answer, of course; the fact that there was nobody else here seemed a good indication that Mark had managed to hire the pub for the night, but it might just have been a slow night at the moment rather than Tom having closed the pub to all other customers)

“Yeah, everything’s set, and all we need now are the guests of the hour,” Mark smiled back at her, as he glanced at his watch briefly before looking back at Ginny. “You’ve sent Ron and Hermione notes to come here?”

Ginny smiled. “Yep; they’re on their way,” she assured him, chuckling slightly at the thought. “Gave both of them brief notes in disguised handwriting asking them to come here for a meeting, and claimed that I found them lying on the doorstep outside the Burrow. Hermione was a bit suspicious about it, but I pointed out that if Death Eaters wanted to capture them, they’d hardly give Hermione a time and a place that could be easily monitored, would they?”

Mark chuckled slightly. “Good point,” he said, nodding as he glanced out of a nearby window, his eyes widening slightly as he saw something.

“Hermione’s coming!” he hissed to Ginny, jerking his thumb out the window as he looked back at his companion. “I’ll go and get things set up; you just… stall for time until Ron gets here, OK?”

Nodding resolutely, Ginny turned her attention to the door as Mark dived over to the bar, whispered a few words to Tom, and then dived through a nearby door, leaving Ginny to look after him blankly for a moment until Hermione entered, looking around the pub in confusion, and Ginny turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Ah, Hermione!” she said, grinning as she turned to look at her friend, noting the bemused expression on Hermione’s face with glee; the chance to confront Hermione with something that the bushy-haired witch _wasn’t_ expecting was so rare that Ginny would probably have done something like this just for the chance to see that expression.

True, she was still looking forward to seeing Hermione up with her brother, but hey; why shouldn’t she be allowed the chance to enjoy some of the fringe benefits?

Especially given that she needed something to take her mind off things; she was _still_ confused about how she felt about Mark when compared to Harry…

“G-Ginny?” Hermione asked, looking at the younger girl in confusion. “W-what are you doing here?”

Ginny just shrugged casually. “Thought I should make sure things worked out well at this meeting,” she explained, glancing out the door briefly and smiling in relief at the sight of her brother’s distinctive red hair coming down the streets of London; she wasn’t sure she could come up with a convincing reason to keep Hermione here for long.

“What?” Hermione said, looking at the young redhead in confusion. “Are you saying you know something about-?”

Then the door to the pub opened and Ron walked in, his eyes instantly falling on the table where his sister and his closest female friend were sitting.

For a few moments, he and Hermione could only look at each other in confusion for a few moments, Ginny nervously glancing between the two as though waiting for a reaction, but then, much to everyone’s surprise, the lights in the Leaky Cauldron all went out; in a muggle pub, it might have been attributed to a power cut, but since the lighting here was created by a combination of magic and everlasting candles, that wasn’t even an option here.

The only exception to the sudden attack of darkness in the building was a long table down at one end of the bar. A tall figure, its back to the other people in the pub, was standing on the table, illuminated in a spotlight and dressed in a long black leather coat, with a wide-brimmed hat around its head that concealed most, if not all, of the details about its appearance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the figure said, his back to his four-person audience as he spoke in a low, deep voice, “I am here tonight to remedy a mistake that has been taking place for the past six years… A mistake that should have been stopped from the moment it nearly became a problem and broke apart Hogwarts’ Golden Trio…”

Then, as the three people watched in surprise (Ron and Hermione from total confusion and Ginny because she wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Mark), the figure spun around, revealing the green head, blue jeans, and a blue-and-cream checked shirt that were the typical appearance of the enigmatic Mark Tiller, grabbed the microphone that had suddenly appeared in front of him in a puff of smoke (Ginny was convinced Mark had only done that to be melodramatic) and smiled at his small audience.

“So sit back, relax, and take a hint, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger; it’s _party time_!” he said, grinning so widely that his face seemed ready to split in half.

Then, before Ron and Hermione could say anything, Mark opened his mouth and began to sing, the microphone off its stand and in his hand as his body swayed to the music.

“ _Now once again, my friend it's the Reverend  
The first platinum status rap president  
And from the coast to California to the show the main,  
Got an east coast sound and my beats go bang  
My own black crown with my snickers got my name  
And I'm back yo, with my collar and cape  
Like a superhero armed with an old school tape  
It's the Rev, yo, you gots to believe_”

Then, as Ron, Ginny, and Hermione watched incredulously, four… _clones_ (For lack of a better term) of Mark leapt up behind the original (Apparently from thin air) and began to sing.

As the song progressed, the five of them took off their wide-brimmed hats and tossed them to the side, the ‘clones’ revealing firey red hair under the hats that reminded Ginny of her family. Evidently, the clones had been given that hair colour in an attempt to make Hermione realise that the song they were singing was meant to be reflecting _Ron’s_ feelings for _her_ (Of course, the fact that they pointed at Hermione also went a great deal towards creating that impression).

Only the original Mark Tiller retained his typical dark, almost cartoonish hair, but he pointed at Hermione with his clones nevertheless as their song continued.

“ _There's a song for lovers you can hear all the time  
But you're like no other to me  
So I'm not gonna promise you a starry sky  
You just need to believe  
(Just need to believe)_”

No sooner had the last line been sung than the focus shifted back to Mark, his clones pulling brand-new (Albeit identical) hats out of their pockets and placing them back on their heads.

Mark didn’t even appear to notice the lack of backing vocalists as he continued to sing solo, his arms waving in odd gestures that Ginny didn’t recognise as he sang. She presumed it was some kind of dance move, but that was as far as her knowledge went; wizarding singers normally just kept hold of the microphone and sang without worrying about creating a visual impression at the same time. True, his dance moves at the party had been similar, but there he hadn’t been the one _singing_ the song; this was a different matter.

“ _I take time for my rhyme and I climb but don't reach  
Hustling when we rustle and grime and rock beats  
And this is it what? Another hit for the streets  
I got love for my people from queens to overseas  
Step into the room and then 'boom' the horns scream  
Rev's coming well and regal, I've got dreams  
Just like Martin Luther the King I might teach  
Rock a collar to the party after party going reach_”

Then, once again, the clones tossed off their hats, now exposing bushy brown hair that resembled Hermione’s as they pointed towards Ron (Ginny noted with some slight surprise that Mark almost seemed to be scowling, as though he was angry at Ron for some reason).

“ _There's a song for lovers you can hear all the time  
(All the time)  
But you're like no other to me  
(Like no other, like no other)  
So I'm not gonna promise you a starry sky  
You just need to believe  
(You just need to believe)_”

Then, for the next part of the song, the words seemed a little more spaced out between the two ‘groups’ of singers (Mark and his clones) than it had been earlier; the clones still sang the majority of the song, but Mark put in his own contribution around the middle of the verse.

“ _There's a song for lovers  
But you're like no other  
(Rev's coming well and regal, I've got dreams  
(Step into the room and then 'boom' the horns scream)  
There's a song for lovers  
But you're like no other to me  
You just need to believe_”

After that, the clones and Mark divided the singing equally between them; the clones sang the first lines, and Mark followed them up with a comment to reinforce what had just been sung, his gaze locked on Ron and Hermione as he alternated back and forth between the two of them.

“ _(I'll be your friend)  
If you say you love me  
(I won't let you down)  
If you say you really care  
(Hold out your hands)  
If you say you really want me  
(I will be there)  
I promise I'll be there, oh, oh_”

Then, for what something told Ginny would be the last solo verse in this song, mark took a couple of steps forward, raised the microphone close to his mouth, closed his eyes as though trying to hold back tears, and his hands clenched around the microphone tightly as he began to sing.

“ _I promise  
I promise  
And then I promise  
I'll be there_”

As he finished that part of the song, he stepped back slightly and relaxed, as though he had merely wished to emphasise the ‘promise’ part of his speech, and the five of them began to sing, looking

“ _There's a song for lovers you can hear all the time  
(All, yeah)  
But you're like no other to me  
(Like no other, like no other)  
So I'm not gonna promise you a starry sky  
(Nothing but a starry sky)  
You just need to believe_”

“ _There's a song for lovers you can hear all the time  
But you're like no other to me  
(Other to me)  
(Like no other, like no other)  
So I'm not gonna promise you a starry sky  
You just need to believe  
(Just need to believe)  
(You just need to believe)_”

As the song finished, the clones and Mark all stepped up to the front of the table and took a bow, before the clones all vanished once again, leaving only Mark to look critically at Ron and Hermione.

“Take Harry’s advice, Ron,” he informed the red-haired boy who was staring at him incredulously. “Don’t let the best thing that ever happened to you get away because you were scared.”

Then he waved once at the audience, gave Ginny a small wink, and vanished.

Smiling, Ginny glanced over at her brother and her friend.

“So, have you got the message yet?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and smiling at them. “Or do I have to go back to my original plan and lock you both in a broom closet?”

Hermione and Ron looked at Ginny for a moment, but then sighed and turned to look at each other, an apprehensive expression on their faces.

“Uh, look, Hermione…” Ron said, looking at his friend with a slightly nervous expression on his.

“Ron, about that…” Hermione began, looking equally apprehensive, before Ginny sighed and leaned forward, grabbing the back of Ron and Hermione’s heads in her hands.

“OK, screw this; desperate times call for desperate measures,” she said simply, before she rammed Ron and Hermione’s heads together so that their lips were pressed up against each other. Even more fortunately, they had just begun to open their mouths to make some kind of protest against what Ginny had just done, with the result that their mouths were _open_ when they met. With their mouths stuck together, and their tongues down each other’s throats, the two of them appeared to be too shocked to do much more than remain where they were, making a meal out of each other’s mouths as Ginny released her grip, smiled at them, and then walked away to leave them to their own devices.

* * *

  
Once outside the Leaky Cauldron, Ginny glanced through one window and was relieved to see that Ron and Hermione appeared to have _finally_ taken the hint; not only were they still kissing, but Ron had reached up with one hand to hold Hermione’s head to his own, and Hermione had now reached both arms around Ron waist.

“Y-ESSSS!” Ginny smiled, turning around and punching the air in victory.

“It worked, huh?” a voice said from behind her. Turning in the direction of the voice, Ginny smiled as Mark walked from the back of the Cauldron to join her, still dressed in his more familiar outfit.

“Take a look for yourself,” Ginny said, smiling as Mark peered through the window. “I think it’s safe to say that we have made a _very_ significant breakthrough in their relationship, if nothing else.”

“Oh yeah…” Mark said, chuckling as he turned away from the window. “Nice job there, Miss Weasley. Looks like our ‘charming’ couple has finally…”

Suddenly, much to Ginny’s surprise, Mark stopped talking and stared ahead at something only he could see, an expression of growing revelation appearing on his face.

“Oh my God…” he muttered to himself, as he stared up at the sky. “That’s _it_ …”

“What?” Ginny asked, looking curiously at Mark. “What’s wrong?”

“ _Wrong_?” Mark said, staring incredulously at Ginny. “Far from it; I just had a _brilliant_ idea, and can’t _believe_ I didn’t think of it earlier!”

Leaning over, he gave Ginny a brief kiss on the lips, smiled at her, and then vanished with a loud POP, leaving Ginny staring at the area where he’d been in surprise.

_What was_ that _all about…?_ she asked herself in confusion.

* * *

  
As soon as he was back in the safety of Dumbledore’s office, Mark groaned.

“God, I pulled out a _photo_ featuring one of them when I started this whole thing, and I _never_ thought to give _that_ idea a try?” he said to himself, his forehead clasped in one hand as he slumped down in the chair behind the desk; he didn’t even care that he was sitting in Dumbledore’s desk right now. “I am a world class _idiot_ …”

“Harry?” a voice said from the wall. “Is something wrong?”

Mark chuckled ruefully under his breath as he looked up at Dumbledore’s portrait.

“That depends on how you define ‘wrong’, Professor,” he said, his tone evidently sarcastic. “I’ve just figured out a way to track down the last horcrux that we _don’t_ know the location of, and I could have done it _ages_ ago if I’d just bloody _thought_ for a bit!”

“Really?” Dumbledore said, looking at Mark curiously. “What would that be?”

Sighing, Mark stood up and turned to look at Dumbledore.

“First, have you still got Gaunt’s ring somewhere about the place?” he asked.

The portrait raised an eyebrow at this odd request, but nevertheless it nodded and pointed at a drawer in the desk. Reaching into it, Mark smiled as he pulled out the ring, then his face fell slightly as he shuddered slightly.

“ _This_ is gonna be odd…” he muttered to himself, as he spun around once again before reappearing, this time dressed in a silky blue top and leather trousers…

And, of course, he was now, for reasons Dumbledore couldn’t quite fathom, a woman with shoulder-length red hair and all the necessary… _extras_ that made his new gender clear.

Noting the headmaster’s raised eyebrow. Mark glared at him angrily as he pulled a map of Britain out of his right pocket and a small crystal out of his left, the ring clutched between his thumb and left ring-finger as he tugged the crystal out of his pocket with his middle and forefingers.

“Look, I _know_ the outfit’s daft, but I _need_ it to properly pull this stunt off!” he said, his teeth gritted as he placed the ring in front of him and swung the crystal around it for a few moments. “Some mentality thing, I think- you know, the form helps me focus the Mask’s power so that I can pull off what I’m trying to do- so hold with the jokes, _OK_!”

Dumbledore merely nodded once, and, his expression as calm and focused as it was ever likely to get, Mark turned back to the map. The crystal circled around it… circled… circled… circled…

Then it landed.

Glancing at the map, Mark swore under his breath.

For reasons unknown to him, the last horcrux was in Azkaban Prison.


	13. The Azkaban Horcrux

A few minutes later, Mark, now back in his more traditional leather jacket and the accompanying blue jeans and shirt (Blissfully absent of even the slightest _hint_ of a cleavage; that experience had just been _way_ too disturbing…), was standing on the outskirts of the vast fortress that now comprised Azkaban prison, staring up at it with a rueful expression as he contemplated his next move.

He had to admit, it was surprising how easy it turned out to be to gain access to this place. Of course, he supposed, on reflection, it wasn’t exactly surprising; after all, in the past, the prison had most likely depended on the Dementors to keep people out, and with their recent ‘defection’ over to Voldemort’s side, it had thus become significantly easier to reach the island.

The _island_ …

Mark chuckled slightly at the thought of wizards using an island as the location for a prison. It somehow seemed such a… _muggle_ idea, he guessed was the best term to be used.

_Some things never change, I guess_ , he thought to himself, as he stared up at the large building before him. In many ways, the structure of the building reminded him of a prison that he’d seen in a movie he’d watched a couple of weeks ago, back when the Dursleys were out and he’d managed to get access to the television; _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , he believed the movie had been called.

It had been a very impressive story, really, even if he thought that Edmond Dantes _could_ have been a bit less ruthless against his former friends; they may have deserved it, but he still thought that Dantes should have been a bit more human on the whole. A part of him had been particularly fond of the character of Dantes’ mentor, Abbe Faria; there had been something about that guy that reminded him of Dumbledore…

Shaking his head, he turned back to the matter at hand. Based on what Dumbledore had told him, Mark had gathered that the prisoners in Azkaban had commonly been delivered by specially-trained aurors, each one an expert at casting a patronus, who drove the dementors away until they were ready for the Azkaban guards to come back. The new prisoner was then transported to an available cell before leaving them to, basically, rot in the cells until they died.

These days, with the Dementors gone having ‘defected’ over to Voldemort’s side, the original security methods for transporting prisoners were relaxed slightly- aurors no longer had to be selected for their ability to summon a patronus- although they still had to be skilled spell casters in case of the prisoners attempted to break away at the last minute. True, the prisoners typically had their wands broken prior to sentencing, but nevertheless, it was still possible for wandless magic to be used in desperate circumstances.

And it was here that Mark Tiller would find the last of Voldemort’s five non-animated horcruxes (He generally counted Nagini as something _other_ than a horcrux, given her more… _animated_ nature, for lack of a better term).

_Well_ , Mark thought to himself, as he stared up at the prison, _if I’m checking out a place_ this _depressing, there’s only one appropriate choice for my costume; the only guy who visited a place that was_ close _to this depressing on a regular basis_.

Spinning around once, Mark emerged from his typical green vortex dressed in a long black cloak, a black outfit that resembled a combination of leather and armour, and a black cowl over the head that had two small points on the top that resembled ears, with the mouth and chin of Mark’s face the only parts of his body still exposed to the outside world.

Giving himself a brief once-over just to make sure, Mark smiled slightly, nodded in approval at himself, pulled a thin black device that would serve to track the horcrux from out of a pocket in his belt, and walked towards the main prison entrance.

As he approached the large gates, he tapped another small device on his belt and smiled as he felt the magic wash over him; the ‘spell’ that was activated by the device was a rather elaborate bit of work on the part of the Mask, but it was necessary for him to avoid unwanted confrontations. Thanks to that little trick, any wards that might be set up around the prison to alert the ministry to an escape via the door would not detect Mark’s entrance or subsequent exit, and he could pursue the horcrux freely with nobody being the wiser.

As soon as he was inside the walls of Azkaban prison, Mark instantly raised his left hand and clicked his fingers to summon a pair of nose plugs; the smell in this place was _unbelievable_. Given the age of this place, bathrooms probably hadn’t been part of the original construction plans, and, what with the generally… _hostile_ … nature of the prisoners, it was likely that nobody had ever really felt like upgrading the place to be more hygienic.

Growling low in his throat, Mark was briefly tempted to turn a simple search-and-destroy mission into a prison breakout of all the innocent prisoners (Stan Shunpike, for one thing; the man may have been an idiot, but he was still a decent idiot), but he shook the thought off; such an operation would be way too difficult to pull off effectively, even if he knew how many people here were innocent in the first place.

_Besides_ , Mark reminded himself, _if I pull this off, the innocent prisoners may soon be allowed out, what with Voldemort being eliminated…_

As he scanned his surroundings, Mark was surprised to see that most of the cells in this part of the castle were currently empty; he would have expected that the Ministry would have crammed the whole place full of prisoners in an attempt to make it appear as though they were doing a good job. On reflection, however, he supposed it wasn’t surprising; given the recent breakouts, it would only make sense for the prisoners closest to the entrance to have made it out before anyone could show up to stop them, even if the rest of the prisoners had subsequently been caught before they could get very far.

Examining his ‘scanner’, Mark was pleased to see that the light on the top, which indicated the location of the horcrux in relation to his current position, was starting to blink even more rapidly the further he advanced into the prison; he must be getting close…

Then the light began to flicker less rapidly, and Mark stared at the device in confusion. If he’d been using normal means, he might have blamed a lack of power, but with the Mask, the only source of a ‘power drain’ would be the sun rising, and it was still only around midnight…

Which left only two options, really. Either he’d passed the horcrux, or it was somewhere _above_ him; he’d forgotten to create a scanner to allow for distance in terms of _height_ as well as just _distance_.

And, given that there didn’t seem to be anything in the cells back when the light had flickered most constantly, that left only up as a direction where the horcrux could be concealed in this place.

_Great_ … Mark mused, as he slid the device back onto his belt and glanced up. He hadn’t bothered to take a count of the number of floors this place had on the way in, but it was a lot.

Even with the power the Mask gave him, this wasn’t going to be easy…

“Ah well,” Mark sighed, as he glanced around his surroundings with a slight sigh. “Let’s get started.”

Checking his belt once more to make sure everything was ready, Mark began to walk down the corridor, looking all around for something that could be called a staircase.

* * *

  
After examining no less than three different floors, each one failing to turn up anything more than a few startled prisoners at the sight of a green-headed man in a Batman suit, Mark’s patience was finally rewarded as the tracker device, once again held out in front of him, emitted a clear, constant light; evidently, the horcrux was on this floor.

Specifically, given that the light seemed more intense when turned in that direction, in the cell on his right.

Peering in through the bars of the cell, Mark’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw that the person who was sitting in the cell, clearly sulking at the fate that had befallen him, was none other than…

_Lucius Malfoy?_ Mark thought, as he backed away from the cell slightly to give himself the chance to think about this latest development.

What in the world was _he_ doing with the horcrux? True, the Death Eater in question currently being in prison meant that it would be easy for him to find somewhere secure to hide the horcrux, especially since it was unlikely that anyone would ever look for something so valuable to Voldemort here, but after his mistake with the diary, why would _anyone_ trust him with another horcrux…

_Unless he doesn’t_ know _he’s holding it_ … Mark mused, clicking his fingers as inspiration struck him. The idea seemed like a long shot, but it certainly made sense. After all, how would anyone be expected to find the fifth horcrux if not even the person who _had_ it knew he possessed the object in question?

And besides, after what happened to the diary when Voldemort entrusted it to a Death Eater who at least had a _fair_ idea of what he possessed, would the Dark Tosser want to risk a similar mistake?

_Well, best get down to business_ , Mark sighed, as he slipped the tracker into his belt, turned to face the door once more, and lashed out with a powerful pick that shattered the lock on the door (Mark made a mental note to replace the lock when he was done here), allowing it to swing open as the ex-Hogwarts governor looked at the figure standing in his door with a harsh expression on his face, suggesting that he _still_ thought he was better than anyone else even though he was currently in prison…

“You are?” he asked as he stood up, glaring at the ‘intruder’ with as much dignity as a man in his pathetic condition could muster; his hair was dirty and ill-kept while his body looked slightly gaunt, as though the skin was being pulled back over his bones to bring them into greater prominence. A part of Mark wondered how the prisoners even ate in this place- did someone just drop in food every now again- but then he thought of Ginny, and what this _bastard_ had tried to do to her five years ago, and his resolve returned; someone who did something like _that_ could just starve for all he cared.

* * *

  
Several miles away, in a distant fortress, Voldemort looked up as a faint scream echoed through the air that only he could hear, and he sighed.

“The Azkaban container has been targeted, my sweet,” he said thoughtfully to Nagini, currently curled around his throne as he sat and pondered a map of Britain before him, planning his next major strike following the death of Albus Dumbledore. “It may be nothing, of course, but caution would be advisable, particularly after those recent… events… around the orphanage and the cave…”

He chuckled slightly as a thought occurred to him.

And, speaking of the cave, that gave him an idea as to who would be the _perfect_ person to dispatch for this little job…

* * *

  
Clicking his fingers, Voldemort smiled in approval as one of the few Death Eaters he retained on a permanent basis (Officially as bodyguards, but unofficially as messengers) stepped up beside him, already unrolling his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. Reaching out with one long, thin, pale finger, Voldemort touched the Dark Mark, his mind fixed on the single Death Eater he wished to summon; this method had taken him time to remaster after he had regained his body, but it was unquestionably worth the effort he had put into learning how to do it in the first place.

Soon, the person who had dared to challenge his power in this manner would fall, at the hands of the man who was rapidly proving to be one of Voldemort’s most skilled followers…

_This will_ doubtless _be interesting_ , Voldemort mused to himself, chuckling slightly as he heard the sound of an apparition having just taken place.

He looked forward to learning about his would-be adversary once the assassin had returned from Azkaban…

“They call me Mark, Mr Malfoy,” Mark replied, glaring back at Malfoy with just as much authority in his stance as his opponent. He’d briefly thought about introducing himself as ‘Batman’, but decided it wouldn’t really serve much of a point; after all, the green skin below the costume’s cowl _would_ make it fairly easy to pick Mark out in a police line-up, no matter what he did…

“And you are here because?” Malfoy retorted, apparently shifting slightly to appear more ‘presentable’; he probably thought Mark was here to break him out of prison for some demented reason.

“You’ve got something I want,” Mark replied bluntly. “I came here to get it.”

One corner of Lucius Malfoy’s mouth turned upwards in a small smirk.

“Really?” he said, looking at Mark as though the new arrival was barking mad. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have nothing on me beyond the prison-issue garments; how am I expected to have _anything_ that might be of use to anybody?”

Mark chuckled slightly, making sure to make the ‘laugh’ suitably chilling; he didn’t want to lull Malfoy into a sense of security by demonstrating a relaxed manner. The sooner this guy understood that he meant business and let Mark check him over for the horcrux, the happier everyone would be, he was sure.

“Oh, you’ve got what I’m looking for all right; you just don’t _know_ you’ve got it,” Mark replied, as he folded his arms and leaned back slightly against the cell walls, for all the world looking as though he was just having a casual chat with a friend about a relatively trivial matter. “Now then, if we can do this the easy way-”

Malfoy lunged out at Mark, one hand curled into a punch aimed directly at Mark’s nose…

And Mark, aided in no small part by the heightened reflexes of his current appearance, neatly sidestepped the punch and lashed out with a backhand blow that struck Malfoy’s cheek with the ‘spikes’ (Or whatever they were called) on his gauntlet, leaving faint scars. As Malfoy screamed in rage and pain, Mark quickly spun around and delivered a roundhouse kick to the back of Malfoy’s head, knocking the Death Eater unconscious as he landed squarely in Mark’s arms (Mark having spun around into a position where he could catch Malfoy; he didn’t want his opponent to be _too_ badly injured…)

Dumping his unconscious foe back on the cell’s single bed, Mark pulled another scanner out of his belt- this one better equipped for scanning for the horcrux when he was up close to the object in question. It vaguely resembled one of Dudley’s old Game Boys- the one he’d received first, and subsequently broken when the Game Boy Colour came out- except that the screen showed a basic diagram of Mark’s immediate surroundings, and it only had an ‘On/Off’ switch; the horcrux energies were already ‘in’ the device after all the time Mark had spent scrying with the remains of the others.

Checking the device, Mark smiled as he noticed the simple diagram of the cell around him…

And then frowned.

That was odd.

According to the tracker, the horcrux was located…

Inside Malfoy’s mouth?

“What the…?” Mark said to himself, as he turned to look at Malfoy in confusion. He glanced down at the scanner again, just in case he’d made a mistake, but no; the red light that indicated the horcrux was still blinking away merrily on the part of the screen that showed the diagram of Lucius Malfoy’s unconscious body, on the left side of his head around the lower jaw.

_This doesn’t make any sense…_ Mark thought to himself, as he stared at the scanner in confusion.

Then he clicked his fingers as inspiration struck.

_Of_ course _; I’m an_ idiot! he mentally berated himself.

After all, hiding places were all well and good, but sooner or later even the best hiding place could be discovered, right? Even without the Mask, Harry would probably have found the horcruxes eventually; it simply would have taken longer than it had taken him _with_ the Norse artefact in question. Therefore, with that reasoning in mind, what better place to conceal the horcrux, than on the person of a Death Eater, totally ignorant of what he was carrying, and in a location where nobody would ever look for something like this…

Specifically, inside his mouth; most likely in the form of a tooth.

Reaching up to tap the cowl covering his head, Mark smiled as a thin pair of lenses slid over his eyes. Leaning down, he prised over Malfoy’s mouth and quickly looked at the teeth in question, the lenses instantly picking up the odd one out; the lower left molar, throbbing with power that gave off a distinct energy signature.

_Voldemort’s_ energy signature.

Mark didn’t waste any time; reaching into Malfoy’s mouth, he took hold of the tooth with two fingers, tried not to think about just how _disgusting_ what he was doing was, and yanked it out of the Death Eater’s mouth. Malfoy’s mouth twitched slightly as Mark released his grip on the jaw, but either the pain was relatively minor or he was more unconscious than Mark had originally thought; the would-be Minister of Magic (Mark was always certain that Malfoy had been aiming for that position before he lost his job as a Hogwarts governor and his career began its slipperly slope downhill) didn’t even open one eye.

Shrugging, Mark tossed the tooth into the air, spun around as it began to fall, and, by the time he caught it, he was back in his traditional leather and denim.

Nodding briefly at Malfoy, he walked out of the cell (Taking a few moments to whip up a new lock for the cell door) and then quickly began to walk back towards the stairs that led down to the bottom of Azkaban prison.

* * *

  
A few minutes later, Mark was standing outside the wizard prison, staring around at his surroundings and taking deep gulps of the fresh air that was now available to him once again…

 _God, that place_ reeked! he thought to himself. _If I_ ever _needed an excuse not to go there, the smell is_ more _than enough_!

Then he shook his head and turned back to the ‘tooth’ in his hand. He knew he should just shatter the thing, of course, but he wanted to see just _what_ he’d been forced to come here to get first…

Fortunately, that bit was easy enough; remembering a few magic tricks he’d seen on TV (Back when he’d managed to get one on his own, of course; the Dursleys wouldn’t have let him _near_ the television willingly), he just passed his hand over the tooth, and smiled as a long blue-and-gold quill appeared in place of the tooth.

“Must have belonged to Ravenclaw…” he mused to himself, taking the quill in the other had as he held it up against the sun to study it more closely.

He sighed slightly as he stared at it.

It _was_ a beautiful thing…

But it had to go if Voldemort was going to do the same.

Laying it down on the ground in front of him, Mark stepped back, reached into his pocket, pulled out a massive flamethrower, aimed it at the quill before him…

And then he… _sensed_ , for lack of a better term… a brief rush of magic, and suddenly someone was standing behind him.

“STOP!” the someone yelled, and Mark’s face suddenly split into a grin.

It was Snape.

It was official; he was _really_ going to enjoy the next few minutes…


	14. Downfall of Severus Snape

“Drop that… _weapon_ ,” Snape said from behind Mark, evidently unaware of just where his new adversary had pulled the weapon from, “and then turn to face me with your hands up, or you won’t have enough time to think before you’re dead or injured.”

Mark tutted slightly under his breath as he contemplated his next move. On the one hand, he _could_ just turn around and knock Snape out before the bastard even had the chance to _blink_ , then proceed to severely pummel him before taking the guy to the prison wing of St Mungo’s…

But no.

That was too good for this guy.

Severus Snape had to be _seriously_ humiliated- not to mention annoyed- before Mark was finished with him…

And so, for the immediate moment, Mark would play along, and then proceed to give Snape a confrontation like _nothing_ the bastard had experienced before.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t do that sort of thing- coupled with the fact that it would have given the game away- Mark would have laughed like a maniac at the thought of what he would soon be putting Snape through.

“As you wish,” he said, as he lowered the flamethrower to the ground, turned to look at his new adversary…

And then he smiled broadly as he finally saw Snape, as though he’d only just realised who he was dealing with.

“ _Snivellus_!” he said, grinning broadly despite his current position. “It’s so _good_ to see you again!”

Mark had to give his foe credit; despite having his humiliating childhood nickname paraded before him, there was only a momentary flicker of discomfort before he was once again a cool, collected, adversary.

“How do you know that name?” he asked, glaring angrily at the green-headed man before him.

Mark shrugged casually. “I know a lot about you…” he said amiably, before his eyes hardened and he glared at Snape. “For example, that you’re a traitorous git who took advantage of a man’s faith in the basic goodness of people and killed him as soon as you had the chance.”

Snape growled as he stepped forward slightly. “You _dare_ -” he began.

“Oh, _I_ dare?” Mark asked, laughing once as he glared angrily at his opponent. “That’s rich; you tormented innocent people with undeserved punishments just because you felt like it, lied to everyone who thought they could trust you, and now you think you can order _me_ around? Snivellus, old boy, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d die otherwise, I wouldn’t take orders from you if you told me to breathe!”

After the second uttering of his detested childhood name, something in Snape briefly seemed to snap; pointing his wand at Mark, he bellowed out “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

As the green beam of light approached him, Mark sighed and neatly stepped to one side, watching as the green beam harmlessly struck the side of Azkaban’s walls. Tutting slightly, he looked back at Snape with a pitying expression.

“You have a _lot_ of pent-up frustration, you know that?” he said, as Snape looked at Mark incredulously, apparently unable to comprehend what had just happened. “You need to relax and… _talk_ about it.”

A quick spin of green energy, and then Mark was dressed in a long white coat, with elaborately-thick glasses perched on the end of his nose. Raising one hand, he clicked his fingers, and a red leather chair appeared behind him, while a long sofa covered with the same material was close to the chair. A leather-bound book appeared in Mark’s other hand as he lowered the hand whose fingers he had clicked and looked directly at Snape, a critical expression on his face.

“Now then, Professor, why don’t you sit down here?” he said, a slight German accent dominating his voice as he indicated the sofa. Snape seemed about to say something (Probably a spell, given the way he raised his wand), but Mark didn’t even wait for an answer; he just stood up, walked towards Snape, grabbed the former teacher by the shoulder with one hand, tossed the wand over to land beside the sofa, and then shoved Snape onto the sofa as he sat down on the chair once again.

“Well, now that we’ve got _that_ out of the way, let’s start,” Mark said, as he tossed the book off to one side and pulled out a notebook.

“You-” Snape began, reaching for his lost wand, but Mark just sighed and clicked his fingers, instantly pinning Snape’s arms and legs to the sofa, an identical leather belt covering the ex-Potions Master’s mouth as he fumed at the other man.

“I _said_ , let’s start,” Mark said, glaring at his former teacher before he sat back to look at the notebook again. “To begin at the beginning, why do you hate your mother?”

Snape’s mouth began to move as though he was trying to reply, but Mark raised one hand to stop the teacher as he studied something in his notebook.

“No, wait, I already covered that detail before you got here; she married a muggle-born and as a result you wasn’t as pure as you wanted yourself to be?” he said, looking teasingly over at Snape. The former Hogwarts teacher glared angrily at Mark, but the young man didn’t even pay attention to what reaction his words were prompting in the former Head of Slytherin House; he just turned back to his notebook and sighed.

“As long as we’re discussing your parents, tell me, is the fact that you aren’t ‘pure’ the _only_ reason you hate your father, or was it also the fact that he abused you when you felt you were ‘better’ than him due to being a wizard?” Mark said, the tone of voice almost sounding like he was asking Snape about the weather if it wasn’t for the merry twinkle in his eyes as he watched Snape fume silently.

“Now then…” Mark said, as he studied the notebook thoughtfully. “That subsequent resentment of your ‘impurity’ ties into your desire to be known as ‘the Half-Blood Prince’, correct? You wanted to be respected and/or feared by your peers and associates, but since you were already labelled a ‘Half-Blood’, and couldn’t change that no matter _how_ hard you tried, all you could do was attempt to mark yourself as a cut above the other half-bloods and turn yourself into a ‘Prince’?”

As Mark turned to look at Snape, he briefly felt something try to reach his mind as the two of them made eye contact, and chuckled slightly; if Snape thought legilimency would be enough to find out who he was, he was going to be _sorely_ disappointed. After all, with the protection the Mask offered, how was anyone _ever_ going to find out who he was behind the green mask?

“Of course, your status as a half-blood, particularly when you wanted to be a _pure_ blood, was what led to your resentment of James Potter during your schooldays, wasn’t it?” Mark inquired as he looked at Snape, and was gratified to see Snape’s expression become ever more angry and resentful as he glared at Mark.

“It’s simple logic, really,” Mark explained as he settled back more comfortably into his chair as he looked scathingly at his former teacher. “James Potter was _everything_ you wanted to be- starting with him being a ‘pure-blood’ and working our way up from there to include his popularity and Quidditch skills- and yet he just didn’t _care_ about all that. He even went around goofing off and making practical jokes when _you_ thought that a ‘pure-blood’ should be all dignity, professionalism, and… eliminating those who weren’t as ‘good’ as them, or did you only start to believe that crap _after_ you left school?”

Looking critically at Snape, Mark sighed slightly as he noticed a briefly shocked expression flicker across Snape’s eyes; he’d evidently made the right conclusion about Snape’s beliefs. “You know, you are a sad, sad, _git_ , you know that?” he said, sighing as he stared up at the sky. “Couldn’t even get over it when he saved your life, just because you thought he was in on the joke from the beginning…”

Shaking his head, Mark turned back to look at his adversary; he could almost _swear_ that smoke was coming out of Snape’s ears, the man was fuming so hard.

“Anyway, as I was saying, that resentment of _James_ Potter ties in to your resentment of _Harry_ Potter,” Mark said, chuckling slightly as he noticed Snape becoming ever more angry, straining against his bonds as he desperately tried to free one of his hands. “I mean, not _only_ is he the son of James Potter- the guy you hated more than anything-, he’s also almost _everything_ you were before coming to Hogwarts- a half-blood raised by muggles- yet he’s _effortlessly_ good at details like Quidditch and making actual _friends_ when you had to really struggle just to _fly_ a broom and the only people who’d spend time with you were mainly terrified of all the curses you knew back then-”

At that moment, Snape finally managed to get one hand free. Fortunately, Mark was sitting far enough away from Snape to prevent the Potions Master from reaching him, but that evidently wasn’t Snape’s main intention; as he yanked the belt off his mouth, it was quickly obvious that all he wanted to do was yell at Mark.

“ _Shut UP_!” he yelled at Mark. “ _You are WRONG! THE SOLE REASON I HATE POTTER IS BECAUSE HE IS AN ARROGANT_ -”

“Oh, shut _up_!” Mark yelled, tossing the notebook aside and standing up face Snape directly, the German accent vanishing. “Give me one clear, _definite_ time when Harry Potter tried to use his _celebrity status_ to get what he wanted! Did he _ever_ say ‘You can’t do that to me- I’m Harry Potter!’? Did he ever try to get out of trouble by saying ‘I saved the world, and you can’t let _one little mistake_ go by?’? _DID HE EVER DO OR SAY_ ANYTHING _THAT SUGGESTED HE THOUGHT HE WAS BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE APART FROM IN YOUR FEVERED, DEMENTED EXCUSE OF AMIND, YOU GODDAMN_ PRICK?”

“YOU-” Snape began.

“NO!” Mark retorted, as he stared angrily at the traitor; he was going to say his piece, and _then_ Snape could try and say something. “HE DID NOTHING OF THE _SORT_! YOU JUST MADE UP _ANY_ EXCUSE TO HATE HIS GUTS, DIDN’T YOU? YOU WEREN’T EVEN _BOTHERED_ ABOUT WHETHER THERE WAS ANYTHING ABOUT HIM TO HATE; YOU JUST KEPT ON HATING HIM FOR SOMETHING HE DIDN’T WANT, HAD NO SAY IN, AND DIDN’T GIVE A RAT’S ARSE ABOUT!”

“SHUT UP!” Snape roared, as he suddenly reached into his pocket with his free hand and threw a small bottle containing some kind of potion at Mark’s face. The bottle shattered as soon as it came into contact, the contents leaking over Mark’s face and into his mouth as the small scratches caused by the breaking glass healed up. As soon as the potion hit Mark’s tongue, he froze, his voice going silent.

“Ah, _perfect_ ,” Snape chuckled, as he reached over with his free hand to undo the remaining belts holding him down. As soon as his legs were free, he walked over to Mark, who was now standing still with a slightly gormless expression on his face.

_But then_ , Snape thought to himself, chuckling as he stared at the man who had _dared_ to keep him contained, _Veritaserum will do that to a person, no matter how much of it the subject ingests_.

“Now that we’ve got _that_ over and done with,” Snape said, leaning in to glare at the now-silent Mark, “ _I’ll_ ask the questions. Firstly, what is your name, and what is the reason for your apparent ‘vendetta’ against the Dark Lord?”

“My name…?” Mark said, turning slightly to look at Snape. “My name… my name is…”

Then he smiled, stepped back, spun around in his familiar green vortex, and then emerged dressed in a black wide-brimmed hat with white trim around the edge, cream trousers, and a blue silk shirt with stupidly elaborate frills covering t in alternating layers from the wrists to the shoulders. As Snape stared at Mark incredulously, Mark snapped his fingers, two maracas appeared in his hands, and he began to sing.

“ _They call me Cuban Pete,  
_ _I'm the king of the rhumba beat_ (Mark waved his arms slightly, maracas clasped in his hands) _  
when I play my maracas I go  
chick chicky boom, chick chicky boom_ (Placing one maraca above his head and one below, Mark wiggled his chin a bit before tossing the maracas off to one side)

“ _Yes sir I'm Cuban Pete, I'm the craze of my native street  
when I start to dance everything goes  
chick chicky boom, chick chicky boom _(For a brief moment, Mark stopped walking to wiggle his hips a bit, and then clicked his fingers to produce a tall, scantily-clad blonde out of thin air)

“ _The senoritas, they sing and they swing with terampero_ (Taking the blonde in his arms, Mark spun her around once)  
 _It's very nice, so full of spice_ (Stopping the spin, Mark placed one hand on the woman’s shoulder and leaned back, his hat almost touching the ground)  
 _And when they dancin they bring a happy ring that era keros_ (Leaping to his feet, he spun around once, arms outstretched, and turned to look at Snape, who was just staring incredulously at his adversary)  
 _singin a song, all the day long_ (Clicking his fingers, Mark jumped into the air onto a lamppost that had suddenly appeared beside him, the blonde having vanished with the same click)

“ _So if you like the beat_ , (Mark slowly circled down to the bottom of the post)  
 _Take a lesson from Cuban Pete,_ (Smiling over at Snape, Mark landed on the ground) _  
And I'll teach you to_ -”

“ENOUGH!” Snape roared, as he raised his wand and launched a curse at Mark. Unfortunately for Snape, all that happened was that a small hole appeared in the shirt; Mark himself appeared unaffected by the blast. Looking at the shirt, Mark sighed slightly and looked back up at Snape.

“You know, if you don’t like the song, all you have to do is say so,” he said, tutting slightly as he shook his head in a disappointed manner.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA_!” Snape yelled, firing the spell at Mark. Mark, much to Snape’s annoyance, didn’t even seem that concerned about the spell; he just spun around in his green whirlwind, the spell harmlessly dispelled against the vortex, and Mark was back in his leather and denim outfit when he emerged, a wand drawn as he glared at Snape.

“Let’s go,” he said simply.

Then his eyes hardened as he glared at Snape. “That is, if you’ve got the _nerve_ to go one-on-one with me, you _coward_.”

“DON’T! CALL! ME! _COWARD_!” Snape yelled, as he launched a non-verbal spell in Mark’s direction.

“Oh, trust me,” Mark retorted, as he wordlessly erected a Shield Charm that caused the spell to harmlessly disappate before it touched its target, “I’ll call you _whatever_ I want… _wimp_.”

“ _SECTUMSERPA_!” Snape roared, firing the lethal curse at Mark; ducking to one side, Mark chuckled as the curse hit the wall behind him before turning back to look at Snape.

“You know, if you want to kill me, you could at least aim in the right direction,” he chuckled. “How you manage to get _anywhere_ I just don’t know, you git…”

“ _CRUCIO_!” Snape screamed.

“Expelliarmus!” Mark retorted, almost lazily, as he pointed his wand back at Snape, his only consent to the danger being to lean slightly to the right. The Cruciatus Curse grazed Mark’s shoulder (Accompanied by a slight twinge of pain; evidently he wasn’t _totally_ immune to magic in this form), but the Expelliarmus blast struck Snape, knocking the wand straight out of his hand.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” Mark yelled as Snape dived towards the wand.

Instantly, Snape found himself lying on the ground, his arms and legs pinned to his sides and his mouth tightly shut, the only signs of activity being his eyes, as he stared angrily in Mark’s direction.

Sighing melodramatically, Mark turned to where he’d left the quill horcrux lying on the ground- still where he’d left it; the night was still and the quill was evidently too heavy to have been sent flying by their recent struggle-, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the flamethrower once more. Turning it on the quill, he pressed the ‘On’ button, and instantly the quill was reduced to ashes by the flames, a faint tinge of green floating into the sky as the fire died down.

“One to go…” Mark sighed to himself, as he turned back to look at Snape. “And as for _you_ , buddy…” he growled, as Snape stared angrily back at him. “ _You_ can just stay right where you are until the aurors come and get you.”

Bending his knees slightly, Mark crouched down on the ground, and then leapt into the air, flying through the night sky at a rapid speed, leaving Snape to silently stare after him, fuming in rage, but unable to do anything about it but wait for the aurors to arrive; the Body-Bind curse didn’t wear off after a certain length of time, unfortunately for him.

Mark, however, wasn’t thinking about Snape right now. He wasn’t even thinking about what he would do to eliminate Nagini now that all the other horcruxes were destroyed; that wouldn’t be too hard to deal with, he was sure.

No, what concerned him now was Ginny.

After all, even with the Mask, there was no guarantee he’d manage to stop all the Death Eaters that Voldemort was sure to have around him- even the Dark Tosser wouldn’t be arrogant enough to neglect details such as bodyguards- leaving Harry wondering what he should do regarding his possible ‘final farewell’ to Ginny.

Namely, should he say goodbye to her as Harry, or as Mark?


	15. The First Dominoes Fall

Lying in her room, Ginny stared blankly up at the ceiling, turning over her thoughts of the last couple of weeks in her head as she tried to come to a decision.

She still couldn’t quite understand what was _wrong_ with her. It had been over a week since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, over a week since she’d last seen Harry (And even that had been only a couple of brief glances before he’d vanished up to his room for reasons unknown), over a week since he’d gone from her life and only left her a note…

Over a week since she’d met Mark Tiller, a remarkable, passionate young man who cared for her just as much, if not more, than Harry had appeared to…

And yet, whatever he did for her, wherever they went together, she couldn’t stop herself thinking about Harry.

_Why_? she mentally scolded herself. _He left me… he didn’t even say goodbye to me… he's a stupid self-sacrificing git who's go the emotional awareness of a teaspoon... he’s a noble idiot who saved me when I didn’t mean anything more to him than his best friend’s little sister… he’s the only person who knows what it’s like to have Voldemort pretty much dominate your life… he needs someone to save the world for…_

At that thought, Ginny sat up rapidly, looking ahead of her with a light of revelation in her eyes.

“He needs someone to save the world _for_ …” she whispered to herself, as she looked over at Hedwig. Once again, she had the sense that the owl knew what she was talking about; Hedwig appeared to nod in agreement at Ginny’s statement, although it could just as easily have been Hedwig ruffling her feathers at just that moment.

Whatever the reason for Hedwig's actions, Ginny’s mind was made up.

The next time she saw Mark, she’d have to tell him the two of them couldn’t continue to see each other like they had been any more. Maybe it wasn’t the most sensible option- after all, she had no way of knowing how long Harry would need to spend tracking down the remaining horcruxes Voldemort had made- but, right now, she didn’t care.

She’d wait for him.

Even if it took years… she’d wait for him.

He needed a reason to save the world, and she was going to be that reason.

“Uh… hello?” a voice said from outside her window.

Ginny sighed slightly in relief; at least she wouldn’t have to worry about when she’d next have the chance totell Markwhat she’d just decided.

“Hi, Mark,” she said, as she walked over to open the window, as her… friend… hovered outside; a quick glance down confirmed that he was using a magic carpet, although now he was sitting on it rather than standing, and he was dressed in his usual shirt, jeans and jacket rather than the silk affair he'd been wearing earlier.

“Hi Ginny,” Mark replied, looking at her with a slightly anxious expression on his face. “Look, I’ve got something I need to tell you-”

“Me too,” Ginny interrupted, raising her hand. “And, in all fairness, I think I should say my bit first; it’ll probably change whatever you have to say to me.”

“Uh… OK,” Mark said, nodding in agreement as he clasped hands before his face. “So… what do you want to say?”

“Mark…” Ginny began, and then sighed before continuing. “We can’t see each other any more.”

Mark just blinked in surprise at that, he almost didn’t look all that bothered by her statement.

“Really,” he said, noncommittally. “So… if you don’t mind my asking, why not?”

“Look, it’s nothing to do with you; it’s me,” Ginny said, wishing she could come up with something a bit less cliché, but at the same time knowing that it was true. “I… I _do_ care for you, Mark, but…”

“But?” Mark asked, looking curiously at her.

“But…” Ginny sighed. “I feel like I’m just… _using_ you, I guess.”

“Ginny-” Mark began.

“No; I am,” Ginny said, raising a hand to stop Mark talking. “It’s not your fault, but, well…”

She sighed. “Look, the simple fact is, every time I’m kissing you I feel like I’m kissing Harry.”

Mark’s eyes widening slightly, and Ginny sighed.

“Yeah, I know; odd, isn’t it?” she said, sighing slightly. “But… well, that’s not it- at least, that’s not _just_ it.”

“Then… what else is there?” Mark asked, looking at her promptingly.

“It’s…” Ginny sighed. “Look, have you ever met someone, and, somehow, even though they’ve never _shown_ it- maybe they don't even know about it themselves-you _know_ that there’s more to them than what they show to the public?” Mark nodded, and Ginny continued. “Well, you see, it’s like…”

For a moment she paused, as though uncertain how to precisely say what she wanted to say, and then she sighed and continued to speak. “It’s like… _you’re_ everything _I_ saw in Harry that he didn’t show to the world.”

She looked down for a moment, as though ashamed at what she’d just admitted, and then sighed and turned back to look at him. “And, well… it feels like I’m just using you to replace him as a result. You know, I’m not seeing you as _you_ ; I’m seeing as what Harry could be if he allowed himself to be more relaxed and emotionally available.”

“Oh,” Mark said, after a moment’s pause. “I… see.”

“Look, I’m sorry for…” Ginny began, but Mark just smiled at her.

“It’s cool,” he said, smiling at her reassuringly. “I guess… well, I guess that I always knew our… whatever… couldn’t last. I’ll always treasure the time we spent together, but, when you get down to it…”

He sighed slightly. “I guess I always knew Harry would hold the place of honour in your heart; I could only ever hope to live in the neighbourhood for a time.”

Leaning into the open window, Mark briefly kissed Ginny on the cheek, and smiled at her as he sat back on the carpet.

“See you around,” he said simply, before turning around and flying off into the night sky.

It was only after Ginny had shut the window that she realised he’d never told her what he’d come there to tell her in the first place.

* * *

  
In a distant location, in an abandoned house haunted by death since that terrible night when a young man killed his father and grandparents simply for being what they were, framing his uncle for the deed because the uncle abandoneda mother the man hadn't cared much for either, Voldemort swore and cursed as he paced his throne room.

 _How_? he asked himself. _How could_ anyone _know of them_?

He couldn’t understand it. He’d taken every precaution to conceal his means of survival from even his closest followers, the locations of most of them were in places that only had any relevance if you knew something about his _past_ , the defences protecting three of them were so difficult even _he_ would have had trouble dealing with them on his own…

And yet, according to all information he had available to him, the defences had been penetrated, and the horcruxes destroyed, by _one man_?

“ _How is that POSSIBLE_?” Voldemort roared, a blast of random magic bursting from his wand- clasped tightly in one hand as it waved- and punching a hole in a nearby wall. It was the sound of that damage, more than anything, that forced Voldemort to calm down slightly; he would achieve nothing by tearing his headquarters apart in a blind rage, and may even just attract too many questions.

As he stared around himself, trying to come to a decision, Voldemort nodded grimly as one fact struck him.

If someone _was_ targeting his horcruxes, than it was inevitable that they would come after Nagini; after all, how else were they going to succeed in killing him? Therefore, given how his normal security measures were proving ineffective, his best method of ensuring his survival was to relocate himself, his remaining horcrux, and his strongest Death Eaters, to the most secure location he had available to him now.

Specifically, a building that was now totally abandoned following the recent blow his followers had delivered to the side of Light following the death of Albus Dumbledore.

_Hogwarts_ …


	16. Escape From Hogwarts

Later that night- so late, in fact, that it was now the morning, with the sun already showing over the horizon- Harry dozed lightly in the former office of Albus Dumbledore, the Mask lying on his chest. Fawkes was also dozing on his perch, although one eye remained slightly open as though looking out for danger.

Up on the wall of his office, Dumbledore’s portrait stared down at the sleeping form of the young man who held the fate of the world itself in his hands, and smiled slightly, a smile that almost resembled a parent showing approval at the work done by a child.

He would have to admit, he was highly impressed at Harry’s performance in targeting and destroying the three horcruxes over the last couple of weeks. It had not yet even reached the second week after Harry had come to this office, seeking somewhere to hide out while he searched for the items in question, and already Voldemort had lost three of his four remaining horcruxes, as well as one of his most dangerous still-active followers.Snape…The portrait of Dumbledore sighed.

He still couldn’t _believe_ he’d been so _foolish_ as to trust that man. As Harry had pointed out to him on one occasion, while they were talking during Harry’s ‘break’ in searching for the horcruxes, why would Snape be _sorry_ about handing the man he hated over to Voldemort?

Of course, there might have been something about Lily Potter that prompted Snape to tell Dumbledore what he had done, but Dumbledore personally doubted it. After all, Snape had never shown much interest in love, so he doubted his former Potions master had ever entertained any stronger feelings towards Lily…

But Dumbledore couldn’t keep beating himself up over the past; what had happened, had happened.

All he could do now was try to guide Harry into a position where he could finally vanquish Voldemort once and for all, no matter how little help he was in his current condition…

* * *

  
A loud explosion of some kind suddenly resounded from outside the castle, and Harry’s eyes popped open.

“W-what?” he said, getting to his feet as rapidly as he could, staring up at the portrait in confusion as he did so. “What was that?”

“I don’t know…” Dumbledore mused, glancing over at the office window, wishing he was in a better position on the wall than this; he could only see the sky out of the window from where his portrait currently hung on the wall.

The Mask in one hand- despite it being daylight and the Mask thus being useless, it seemed to reassure Harry to have it close to him- and his wand in the other, Harry ran towards the window and leaned out to look at what had caused the sound. After a moment, he leaned back into the room, his face pale as he turned to look at the portrait.

“It’s the Death Eaters!” he said, staring at the portrait in panic. “They’re _attacking_ Hogwarts!”

Dumbledore sighed as he looked at his student. “I should have expected this…” he groaned, clasping his head in one hand as he leaned forward in his chair. “With Hogwarts deserted following my death, it would probably make the perfect fortress for Riddle and his troops; an easily defended location with nobody presently here to defend it from invaders. If nothing else, it would prove to be a significant _moral_ victory; Hogwarts has long been regarded as one of the few places Voldemort could not penetrate. If he can get a foothold here, he will doubtless feel as though he has proven that nothing can stop him following my death.”

Looking back at Harry, his eyes flicked towards the Mask Harry clutched in his hand, and a small smile crossed his face. “Of course, he does not know about our latest trick, but since that particular avenue is not open to us until sunset, we shall not discuss it further.”

“Well, what can we do about this _now_?” Harry said, indicating Fawkes’ currently deserted perch; the phoenix had gone off flying shortly after Harry returned, so using him to flame out of the castle wasn’t a valid option at the moment. “I can’t get out of here without Fawkes, and there’s no way I can fight _that_ many people without the Mask; it’d be hard enough holding them off _with_ it!”

“No,” Dumbledore nodded, as he studied his office. “And, of course, my fire is out and there is no material to relight it, so simply flooing away from here is not an option. You could possibly call for Fawkes to flame you away from here- you and he have always possessed a certain bond that could enable communication between the two of you- but I would not recommend such a means of escape even if he _was_ present; powerful magical artefacts such as the Mask are not easy to transport by means such as phoenix flame, as their own powers can interfere with the transport and divert the user to some other location…”

Then he smiled slightly as he looked back at Harry. “Of course, there is still the Room of Requirement to provide you with a more secure potential escape route.”

“What?” Harry said, looking up at Dumbledore in surprise. “You mean… I could use it to _create_ a link to the floo network?”

“Or a portkey to somewhere safe, if you so wish- indeed, that would probably be safer, as a floo connection might be traced to its destination,” Dumbledore explained. “The portkey would, of course, have to be set for a destination you knew well and could be sure nobody would see you arrive at, but I feel sure that you would prove yourself equal to the challenge of choosing such a location.”

“Yeah… maybe…” Harry said, possibilities already flying through his head as he grabbed the Mask and his wand before glancing back at Dumbledore. “Will Fawkes be able to find me if I leave?” Then another thought occurred to him, and he looked anxiously at the portrait. “And will you be all right up here?

Dumbledore nodded reassuringly.

“There is no magic capable of transporting someone up to this office if Hogwarts itself does not wish them to be here; I, and the other portraits, shall be fine, I assure you,” he assured Harry, a slight smile on his face. “When Fawkes comes, I shall send him to you; even if he cannot transport you with the Mask, he could still prove a valuable source of assistance when the time for battle comes.”

“Right,” Harry said, as he swallowed slightly, grateful that he hadn’t decided to leave his trunk large after arriving here; it was still the size of a box of matches and sitting in his pocket. The only times it had been restored to its normal size since arriving had been when he’d pulled out his invisibility cloak, and fortunately he’d kept the item in question out; it would probably help him right now.

As he headed for the door to the office, Harry was already going over the fastest way to the Room of Requirement; if he just reversed the path Umbridge had forced him to take when she’d tried to catch out the DA and taken him to Dumbledore’s office, and actually _ran_ this time rather than the walking pace he’d taken last time, he should be at the Room of Requirement in a few minutes. Of course, he’d then have to hope nobody showed up while he was pacing in front of the Room of Requirement to activate it, but if he was fast enough, and remained focused on what he was doing, it _could_ work…

He was just about to pull the cloak over himself and exit the office when a thought occurred to him, and he glanced back at Dumbledore.

“Uh… apart from Moody’s eye, is there any _other_ way to see through invisibility cloaks?” he asked anxiously; he’d like to know whether there were any other precautions he should be taking while he headed for the Room of Requirement. If the cloak was pretty much foolproof, that was him pretty much there already so long as he stayed quiet, but he’d appreciate knowing if there was anything he should be worried about…

“No; Moody’s eye is a rarity in that regard, fortunately for us,” Dumbledore said, a small smile visible on his face. “Someone might be able to spot you if they used a subtle level of legilimency- rather like a telepath in muggle fiction detecting a person’s mind when they are hiding close by- but it is unlikely that anyone would be ale to detect you in that manner if they have no reason to believe there is someone close to them.”

Nodding once, Harry shrugged the cloak over his head, clutching his wand in one hand and the Mask in the other as he headed for the door to the office. As he walked down the steps that led to the gargoyle-concealed entrance, he was already going over his options for a quick, effective means of taking out any Death Eaters he may come across who seemed like they were about to find him, and had already decided on stunners if they weren’t close enough and a swift kick if they were when he finally reached the ground level.

Taking a brief glance at his surroundings, he was relieved to see that nobody seemed to have reached here yet. Seeing the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office just decide to jump to one side for no apparent reason might have attracted too much attention.

Swallowing resolutely, Harry began to hurry through the corridors of Hogwarts, pausing at every corner to peer around it and make sure that there weren’t any Death Eaters there already. He had no idea what kind of numbers he should be expecting to face, but he didn’t want to risk running around a corner and hitting a Death Eater coming from the other direction…

He was about halfway to the Room of Requirement when he heard another loud explosion, and nearly froze before realising that it was taking place further down the corridor, in one of the main stairways. For a moment, Harry thought about leaving, but his curiosity quickly got the better of him and he dashed over to take a look for himself; if nothing else, the more he knew about the situation here for his later attack on Voldemort, the better his chances of survival.

What he saw did not look encouraging; it looked like, for some reason, fighting had broken out among the Death Eaters; six of them were firing their wands at what looked like two others, the two having been backed into a corner and…

_Wait a minute_ … Harry thought to himself, squinting slightly as he stared at the two cornered people. _That’s Shacklebolt, isn’t it_?

He swore slightly under his breath; if Shacklebolt was here, it seemed like a good bet that the man with him was an auror as well. The attack had only taken place a few minutes ago, so they must have had some kind of information that the attack was either taking place or about to take place; whether it was _another_ spy in the Death Eater ranks, or they’d just had alarms around Hogwarts to alert them to a more obvious attempt to breach the castle’s defences than Malfoy’s earlier use of the vanishing cabinet, Harry didn’t know.

All that mattered was that, right now, a battle had just started in Hogwarts, and he had no idea what to do. One extra wand couldn’t make that much difference for however many aurors were there, the Mask was still useless, and he had to get to the Room of Requirement…

Then a spell struck Shacklebolt in the shoulder, leaving a bloody wound that did _not_ look like it would be beneficial for his long-term health, and Harry made up his mind.

Screw staying undetected; if nothing else, it couldn’t hurt to let them know he was still alive.

Plus, if _this_ was where the final battle would take place, the possibility to acquire a bit of extra back-up for when the time came couldn’t hurt his chances, and he might as well guarantee that Voldemort would remain here for hi to strike back later…

Standing up, Harry threw the cloak off to one side, aimed his wand at the nearest Death Eater, yelled out “ _Stupefy_!” and smiled as the Death Eater in question collapsed to the ground, unable even to gasp out in shock as he fell.

As the other Death Eaters turned to look in his direction, Harry dived forward, knocking various Death Eaters backwards to crash into each other, sending them off-balance for a brief moment, and then glanced back at Shacklebolt.

“ _GO_!” he yelled at the dark-skinned auror. “You _have_ to get _out_ of here; I’ve got a plan, but you guys _can’t_ stick around if this is going to work.”

“But-” Shacklebolt began, staring at Harry in confusion.

“GO!” Harry yelled, as he jerked one hand towards the nearby corridor, fairly sure it would lead them back to the main entrance. “You can’t win this right now; give me twenty-four hours to do something about it myself, then you can try something different if nothing’s changed! It’ll give you a chance to _think_ , at least!”

Shacklebolt briefly seemed about to protest, but, seeing the conviction and determination in Harry’s eyes, he changed his mind.

Walking over, he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, looking directly into his eyes for a moment before he finally spoke.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours, Potter,” he said, as he looked at the young wizard. “You make a fair point; I might be able to come up with something better given a bit more time.”

The slight smile on his face vanished as he looked back at Harry. “However, you’ll _only_ have twenty-four hours; anything after that, if I see you, I’ll be bringing you in for obstructing my attempts to resolve this situation.”

With that, he turned around, and began to run down the corridor that Harry had just indicated, followed closely by the other auror, who, Harry noted, seemed content to follow Shacklebolt’s lead in this matter for the moment. Pausing for a moment to make sure they’d gone all the way down the corridor- he didn’t want the younger auror to try and knock him out and take him back to Scrimgeour to win some proverbial brownie points with the Minister of Magic- he turned around, grabbed his cloak, shrugged it back on, and began to run back along the corridor towards the Room of Requirement.

As he ran, he vaguely noticed a couple of figures clad in dark robes in some of the interconnecting corridors, but he was moving too fast for anyone to get a decent glimpse of any part of him that might be visible under the cloak. Spinning around a corner, he finally saw the infamous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy’s efforts to teach ballet to a bunch of trolls, and skidded to a halt.

After checking to make sure there was nobody around him at the immediate moment, he rapidly began to pace up and down the corridor in front of the tapestry, his mind repeating the same thought over and over again; _I need a portkey to the woods outside the Burrow… I need a portkey to the woods outside the Burrow… I need a portkey to the woods outside the Burrow…_

And then, as his ears started to detect the faint sound of footsteps approaching him, a door appeared in front of the tapestry.

Grabbing the door handle and yanking it open, Harry dived into the Room of Requirement. He smiled slightly as he saw what the room had created for him for the current necessity; a small stone room, about five metres long and just as wide, but of average height for a Hogwarts classroom, with a seemingly discarded road sign, apparently once used to point to ‘the Burrow’, lying in the middle of the room.

True, the destination indicated on the sign wasn’t _quite_ accurate- he was just aiming for the woods _outside_ the Burrow, rather than the Burrow itself- but it would get the job done, and, right now, that was all that really mattered.

Harry began to move towards the sign…

“ _STOP_!” a voice yelled from behind him.

Harry’s eyes widened in shock at the sound.

_Oh boy…_ he thought, as he turned around, slowly and careful, taking care to keep the Mask out of sight, to see Voldemort standing before him, wand pointing at his chest, a smug smile on his face as he stared at his ‘prisoner’.

“Well well…” he said, grinning broadly as he stared at his opponent. “Harry Potter, still in Hogwarts at this time? What an unexpected… bonus.”

“Yeah, life’s _full_ of surprises, isn’t it?” Harry retorted, glaring back at Voldemort, tense and ready to dive towards the sign behind him. He knew he should probably get moving _now_ , but he couldn’t resist the chance to get in a little dig or two at his opponent…

“So, how’re the horcruxes?” he asked, smiling slightly at the momentary expression of fear that crossed Voldemort’s face. “Notice anything… _off_ about them lately?”

As Voldemort glared at him, a hint of fear evident on his face at his foe’s words, Harry chuckled; it was _excellent_ to have _Voldemort_ be the one on edge for once.

“What; you thought you’d stopped that problem with Dumbledore’s death?” he asked, a broad grin on his face as he glared at the… _thing_ … that had killed his parents, enjoying the chance to see him squirm for once. “You see, _that_ is why you’ll never be truly _great_ ; you always think _everyone_ is just like you, only interested in claiming the glory for themselves and only revealing what’s going on to someone else when they’re acquired so much power that they feel that literally _nothing_ can stop them.”

Shifting his stance slightly, the better to dodge an attack, Harry stepped forward slightly to glare at Voldemort. “But I don’t _need_ to be more powerful than you; I just need to be powerful _enough_.”

Voldemort smiled slightly at that, one corner of his mouth turning upwards in amusement.

“You really are _ridiculously_ naïve, Harry,” he said, chuckling as he stared at the boy who had marked his downfall years ago. “You honestly think that you can stop _me_ with a philosophy like _that_? Just stop me _once_ , and that’s it; you’ll remain unopposed for the rest of your life? If you genuinely believe _that_ , you will _never_ be powerful enough to replace me…”

“Who said I _wanted_ to replace you?” Harry retorted, glaring at Voldemort. “I may have been ‘marked as your equal’, but I don’t want to be _anything_ more than I am right now; just Harry Potter, your relatively average Gryffindor. Even if I _do_ have to put up with that ‘Boy Who Lived’ _crap_ thanks to you, I’d be perfectly OK with finishing you off and taking up a job playing Quidditch or something like that, where I don’t have to worry about anything more serious than earning enough cash to live in relative comfort.”

Voldemort sighed critically as he started back at Harry.

“You’ll never understand what I taught Quirrell, will you?” he said, an almost dejected expression on his face as he stared at Harry. “You’re too content with what you _have_ to ever be powerful enough to defeat me-”

“And you’re just scared about the fact that you’re _this_ far away from death, aren’t you?” Harry retorted, grinning once again at Voldemort’s discomfort. “You feel it yet? That little nagging doubt in the back of your skull… that little fear of the unknown… the agony that you’d feel as everything comes apart…”

He chuckled slightly, hoping it sounded as sinister as he wanted it to; he wasn’t intending to break out into a fit of maniacal laughter, but he _did_ want Voldemort to feel on-edge.

“Basically, you feel all that… you’re screwed,” he said as a conclusion.

“You would _dare_ -” Voldemort began, eyes narrowed in rage.

“What, to speak to you like that?” Harry said, grinning slightly at the expression on Voldemort’s face; it was _always_ a pleasure to see the Dark Tosser get flustered, in his opinion. “Well, unfortunately for you, you don’t have _any_ kind of control over me, so I can say whatever I want to you… _Tommy_.”

As an expression of rage flashed across Voldemort’s face, he raised his wand sharply once again. Instantly, Harry dived to the ground, vaguely noticing a burst of green energy hurtle over his head, spun around so he was looking at his target, grabbed the sign lying in front of him…

* * *

  
And, after the brief feeling that he was stuck in a whirlwind, he landed in the depths of the woods, the Mask and his wand in one hand and the portkey clutched in the other.

Standing up, Harry glanced around at his surroundings, and smiled in approval.

“Did it,” he said, as he glanced down at the Mask, mentally running over the fine details of his latest plan in his head.

Now, all he needed to do was wait until it was night, and then, after one last bit of business…

He sighed as he stared up at the sky.

That would be it.

The moment of truth.

When their next fight came, either he killed Voldemort, or Voldemort would kill him.

No middle ground could be allowed; it was one or the other, not both.

He just hoped that the Mask would have what it took to pull _that_ victory out of itself…


	17. The Last Goodbye?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘You Raise Me Up’ was released by Westlife, so that’s not mine either; just wanted to confirm

Later that night, as Ginny lay in her room, staring idly up at her room, the last thing she’d been expecting was to wake up to a light tapping on her window.

She’d been hoping to manage a few hours’ sleep now that she didn’t feel obliged to wait up for Mark, after their little ‘talk’ last night. After all, the day had been a hectic one, even if she hadn’t been allowed to hear about most of what had happened; based on some stuff she’d overheard in the kitchen, Voldemort had apparently launched a mass attacks on the abandoned Hogwarts facility, for reasons that she wasn’t entirely clear on, and taken control of it from the aurors who had been sent to try and reclaim it once the alarm reached them.

She still couldn’t quite believe that Riddle could be so arrogant as to actually attack _Hogwarts_. Admittedly it _was_ a highly secure location that had been left mostly undefended since the funeral, and the victory _would_ be a major blow to moral once it got out- so far only members of the Order of the Phoenix knew much about the recent development of things with the Death Eaters- but still…

She groaned as she slumped back onto her bed once more, only to be stirred into consciousness by a light tapping on her window.

_What the…_? she thought to herself, confused. As she staggered to her feet and hurried over to the window, she vaguely saw what she thought was the corner of a cloak of some kind out of the corner of the window, but it vanished from view before she could pay more attention to it. As she reached the window and opened it, she noticed a small note pinned to the frame outside her door, flapping slightly in the wind. Reaching out, she grabbed the note, tore it from the thin nail that had held it onto the window, and read the brief message that was written on it in block capitals, presumably to disguise the handwriting.From where I stand, the stars shine only for you…“Huh?” Ginny said to herself, staring in confusion at the note.

_What does_ that _mean?_

Then she clicked her fingers as an idea came to her.

Maybe the note was referring to something on the roof of the Burrow…

A part of her knew that there was a possibility that this could all be a trap by the Death Eaters, but she doubted it; if they wanted to capture her, it would have been far easier for them to just break into her room rather than get her up to the roof. Besides, she was going to take her wand up just to make sure if things went wrong.

As she closed the door behind her, she cocked her head to one side slightly, puzzled by the faint trace of music that seemed to have started…

_On the roof_? Ginny mused to herself as she glanced upwards. She was grateful that most of her family were out at the moment; Ron and Hermione had gone on a date down to the village earlier that night, her parents had gone off to a meeting at Order headquarters, and most of her brothers were away on various bits of business for the Order. The only other people in the house at the moment were the twins, who’d come home to keep an eye on Ginny in case anyone tried to mount an attack, and they were down on a lower floor at the moment anyway.

As she began to walk towards the stairs leading to the roof, Ginny slowly began to hear more of the song that was playing at the moment; a slow-paced song that somehow, managed to really appeal to Ginny on some level.

“ _When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;  
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;  
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,  
Until you come and sit a while with me…_”

Ginny smiled wistfully at the lyrics as she began to climb the stairs. In their own way, they sounded almost like they were describing what she wanted Harry to see her as; his reason for continuing to fight Voldemort and the Death Eaters, no matter what had happened between them. She knew she was only guessing what the song as a whole was about, but the content seemed to fit; when the singer was feeling at his worse, someone came and, apparently, made them feel better.

She could almost hope that it really _was_ Harry up there, singing to her- or, at least, playing the music to attract her up to the roof…

But no; this kind of thing was more the sort of thing _Mark_ would do, rather than Harry.

As much as she loved him, she couldn’t see him as coming up with something like this on his own, and he was unlikely to have asked someone else for advice given that he was currently on the move searching for the horcruxes.

No, it was almost certainly going to be Mark behind this thing.

Of course, the fact that she and Mark had broken up- if they could ever have been said to be _together_ in the first place; it may have been impressive, but Ginny needed more than a flight around the world and a few dances to consider a guy her _boyfriend_ \- made it a bit harder to work out who was behind this whole thing.

“ _You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;  
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;  
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;  
You raise me up… _

_To more than I can be…_ ”

Shaking her head slightly sadly as she reached the door to the roof of the Burrow, her mind briefly lost in dreams of what could be if Harry had been more open, or if _she’d_ been more open to Mark, Ginny reached out, swung the door open…

At the sight awaiting her on the other side of the door, Ginny’s jaw dropped.

There in front of her, on the roof of her house, was a table and two chairs, the table set for an elegant dinner. Two large, dripping steaks lay on two plates, bottles of butterbeer and firewhiskey stood on the table, a large basket of bread sat in the centre between two tall, elaborate candlesticks, the candles burning merrily in them…

And standing behind the table, what looked like a muggle radio on a small collapsible desk just to the left of him, dressed in blue jeans, a blue shirt, and a dark red coat that came down to his knees, staring at the door she’d just come out of with a hopeful smile on his face, was Harry Potter. As he saw her come through the door, Harry smiled, raised what looked like a microphone to his mouth, and continued to sing along to the song, one hand stretched out as though asking her to take it as he walked up to her.

“ _You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;  
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas; _(Reaching her, Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, staring into her eyes as he continued to sing. _  
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;  
You raise me up… _

_To more than I can be…_ ”

“Harry…” Ginny whispered uncertainly. Harry didn’t answer, however; he just walked up to her, a small smile on his face as he put the microphone in his pocket, the radio simply continuing to play the music, and took her in his arms.

“Mark told me what you said to him,” he whispered to her, a small smile on his face. “I just had to let you know…”

He pulled back from her ear to look her in the eyes, and smiled softly.

“I love you,” he said, his voice just as soft as his smile, even as a look of joy flashed in his eyes, as though he’d never thought he would ever find someone who would actually _want_ to hear him say those words. “I think… on some level… I’ve _always_ loved you.”

Leaning over, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, silently asking her to just remain quiet and enjoy the moment for a while, even as he began to slowly sway their bodies to the music from the radio behind him. A part of Ginny noted that the words were still being sung despite Harry having stopped singing, but she shrugged it off; he’d probably just had the words on mute earlier to make it more romantic, but now wanted to focus on her instead.

“ _You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;  
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;  
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;  
You raise me up… _

_To more than I can be…_ ”

Looking up at Harry, Ginny blushed slightly as she saw the way he was looking at her; a look that somehow made her feel as cold as ice and as warm as any phoenix.

Just the look in his eyes…

It made Ginny want to pin him to the roof and do all kinds of things she’d never have even _thought_ about doing in the past.

Of course, the fact that they were on the roof of her _house_ and her parents might hear the noise and come to see what was going on was a bit of a turn-off, of course, but a girl could dream right?

Ginny still couldn’t believe that _Harry_ had come up with this on his own. She knew that it could be _done_ , of course- maybe he’d contacted that house-elf he knew, Dobby if she recalled Hermione’s stories about him correctly- to help him arrange the food or something like that- but the idea of a rooftop dinner under the stars by candlelight and music _alone_ was, as far as she was concerned, _very_ romantic…

“ _You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;  
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;  
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;  
You raise me up… _

_To more than I can be…_ ”

As the song began to die away, Ginny felt like tugging Harry back to her as he stepped away from her, but the desire faded as he indicated the table behind them.

“Hungry?” he asked, the small grin he’d worn since he spoke still evident on his face.

“In more ways than one,” Ginny replied, giving him a brief attempt at a seductive grin, but quickly changing it to a normal one as he stared at her with a slightly confused look; evidently she wasn’t quite capable of pulling that off yet.

“So…” she began to say, as she sat down opposite Harry and started to cut into her steak, before her voice trailed off.

“Yes?” Harry asked, looking at her curiously from the opposite side of the table, a piece of steak already half-way to his mouth.

“Nothing,” Ginny said, smiling reassuringly as she shook her head and finished cutting herself a piece of steak. “Nothing at all.”

She knew it was the coward’s way out, of course. She _had_ been intending to ask Harry where he’d been over the last week or so, how Mark had been able to contact him when nobody else could, why he’d decided to come back _now_ of all times…

But then she’d stopped herself.

Call her childish, but, for the moment, at least, she’d rather live with the illusion that Harry had created here than let reality break in and spoil it.

As far as she was concerned, right now, Harry and her were just an ordinary couple, enjoying an ordinary romantic night-time dinner as music played in the background; the fact that it was on the roof of her house was irrelevant in the overall scheme of things.

Maybe the real world would intrude on them later- in fact, given who Harry was, it almost certainly _would_ , to some extent- but, for the moment, she’d just enjoy the present.

* * *

  
As the night went on, thankfully, it was clear that Harry was just as resolved to enjoy the present as Ginny was. He casually but subtly deflected any attempts on Ginny’s part to ask where he’d been over the last week or so, but he was so open otherwise that she barely even minded about that. He told her all kinds of things that she’d never have guessed he would want to tell her in the past, ranging from some stories that he’d heard from Lupin and Sirius about assorted Marauder pranks to the more personal stories such as the time he’d escaped his cousin’s gang by unintentionally using his magic to jump onto the roof of the school before they could reach him.

Of course, Ginny knew that there were certain details about the last story- as well as its fellow accidental-magic-at-the-Dursleys stories- that Harry still _wasn’t_ telling her, but she was prepared to let that go for the moment and try to get the rest out of him later.

It was only towards the end of the meal- Harry had somehow managed to summon two large bowls of ice-cream from under the table, although Ginny suspected that he’d had some help from Dobby or another house-elf- that Harry stopped smiling and looked at her seriously.

“Ginny…” he said, taking a deep breath as he looked at her, the slight trace of regret in his eyes, “I have something to tell you, and I need you to tell the others as soon as possible.”

Her eyes widened slightly in fear as Ginny looked up at Harry, uncertain what she wanted his next words to be.

On the one hand, she definitely _didn’t_ want him to do something stupid and impulsive like… propose to her to apologise for leaving her or anything like that. As romantic as it might be for him to promise after the time they’d just spent together, it was too soon for that kind of thing, in her opinion; she’d prefer to have spent a _bit_ more time dating him before committing herself to something like that…

But, on the other hand, if he told her that he was about to go off and kill Voldemort (He couldn’t be here to tell her that Voldemort was dead; he’d have just staid so straight away if that was the case), she knew very well that, no matter what she’d like to pretend, Harry stood a very good chance of dying in that fight…

Then, after a moment’s pause as though to gather his thoughts, Harry finally spoke, his voice cutting through her train of thought.

“I’ve destroyed three of the four remaining horcruxes, Ginny,” he said, as he turned to look at her, a solemn expression on his face as he faced the girl he loved.

Ginny’s jaw dropped.

_That_ hadn’t exactly been something she’d expected to hear this soon after he’d left…

“You destroyed them on your _own_?” she said, staring incredulously at Harry. “This _fast_? How did you _do_ that?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well… let’s just say that I had a bit of help from the right people,” he said casually, in a tone of voice that suggested there was more to it than that but he wasn’t prepared to tell her what it was yet.

Then he sighed and looked at her once again. “And… as long as we’re on that topic, I’m going after the last remaining horcrux- and Voldemort himself, of course- tonight.”

“WHAT?” Ginny yelled, staring incredulously at her… boyfriend, she supposed would be the correct term once again… after that statement. “You can’t be _serious_!”

“Ginny…” Harry sighed, as he looked back at her. “There’s not going to be a better _chance_ than this. His takeover of Hogwarts may have given him a more secure permanent base, but it also means that I know _exactly_ where he is, I know how to get in there, and I _know_ that his forces are going to be weakened after the effort it would have taken to get into the place.”

Taking a brief, deep breath, Harry looked at Ginny once more. “It has to be tonight, Ginny… and… well, I wanted to be sure that _someone_ knew that I was going to attack him tonight, so that I know for certain that, after tomorrow… the world wouldn’t have to live in fear any more.”

“Harry, no offence intended, but _are you INSANE_?” Ginny yelled, walking forward so that she was standing directly in front of Harry, glaring critically up at him as she did so. “What makes you think even have a _chance_ of stopping Voldemort on your own? I mean, it’s not that you’re not a pretty good duellist, but he’s got _decades_ more experience than you do, even _without_ the fact that he’s a completely _demented_ homicidal maniac with a penchant for mass murder! What makes-”

Before Ginny could continue, Harry had grabbed her face in both hands, pulled her body close to his, and was giving her a deep kiss on the lips.

Despite her anger towards her boyfriend at the moment, Ginny was too stunned to even _think_ about pushing Harry away from her as he kissed her. For a moment, her mind turned blank, nothing else existing for her in that moment by the slight movements of Harry’s mouth and tongue as they softly probed her own mouth and lips…

Then he pulled back, looking apologetically at her as he did so.

“I _have_ to, Ginny,” he said, regret in his eyes as he looked at her. “Believe me… if there was someone else who could do it, I’d be perfectly willing to leave Voldemort to them… but there isn’t. It’s just me.”

Then he smiled slightly, as though at some secret joke, and looked her in the eyes once again. “And don’t worry about Voldemort’s skills as a duellist; in my current plan of attack, he won’t have _time_ to duel me if all goes well…”

Before Ginny could say anything to that, Harry had reached into his jacket pocket as though to pull something out of his pocket. For a moment, Ginny’s mind flashed back to her earlier concerns about Harry’s purpose here- what would she say if he actually _did_ pull out a ring…?

Then there was a brief, loud pop, and Harry vanished, his hand still in his pocket.

He’d apparated.

He’d come all this way to tell her that he loved her, given her an _incredible_ date, stayed away from anything relating to Voldemort or his apparent ‘destiny’ to defeat the most powerful Dark Lord for several centuries…

And then he’d gone and left her?

OK, so he was most likely going off to confront Voldemort and didn’t want to put her at risk by asking her to come along…

But for _crying out loud_! As much as she understood his reasons, hadn’t she _shown_ that she could handle herself over the last few years? OK, so she hadn’t exactly shone during the battle of the Department of Mysteries, but that had just been an accident caused in no small part by her inexperience in a combat situation. Stick her in that fight _now_ , with her _prepared_ for what she’d have to deal with, and she was sure that she could manage to do some _serious_ damage to her opponents…

It was right then and there that Ginny made up her mind.

Harry _wasn’t_ doing this alone.

Closing her eyes, hoping and praying that she was doing this right, Ginny Apparated…


	18. The Stage is Set

As he stood outside the building that had been a home to him for so long, Harry swallowed slightly as he went over his plan once more in his mind.

He still wasn’t entirely sure if the form he’d decided to use during this attack was a good choice- what if its instincts proved to be more powerful than he was expecting?- but, as always, he shook those thoughts off; it wasn’t the time to worry about possibilities right now.

All that mattered was that he win the upcoming battle.

So long as he didn’t violate his own personal vow- that he wouldn’t kill any opponent who wasn’t Voldemort himself- he could live with what he had to do to achieve that goal…

He hoped.

Glancing up, Harry noted the brief glow that indicated a phoenix flaming into a location, and smiled approvingly; he’d ‘asked’ Fawkes (Although he got the impression the phoenix would have understood him anyway) to keep an eye on him during the fight, in case he needed some assistance, and it was a relief to see the phoenix there if he needed to be healed or something similar. He also noticed the snow-white form of Hedwig beside Fawkes, and couldn’t stop another relieved smile; he’d instructed Hedwig to stay with Fawkes to keep an eye on him, and given her a note to take to the Order of the Phoenix if things went wrong and he needed assistance.

Of course, he hoped that neither would be needed, but, when the stakes were as high as they were right now, Harry believed in being prepared.

His hand still in his pocket, where he’d put it shortly before leaving Ginny to make sure his secret weapon was still all right, Harry pulled the hand out of his pocket, the Mask clutched in his fingers as he held it in front of himself once more. It was almost hard to believe that he was relying on a piece of wood to win the battle that he’d been conscripted to fight before he was even born…

But, of course, this was no _ordinary_ piece of wood.

As he stared at the wooden surface, for a brief moment, he once again saw that faint glimmer that he had sometimes noticed as he prepared to use the Mask in a particularly… interesting manner…

Then he looked back up at the school before him, and his face hardened once more.

It was now or never.

Nearly sixteen years after that fateful Halloween night, when Voldemort was hit in the face by his own curse as he tried to kill the infant Harry, it would end.

Harry raised the Mask to his face, the now-familiar green energy already swirling over him as the wood touched his skin…

* * *

  
And, a few seconds later, after the customary whirlwind of green energy that always preceded his appearances, Mark Tiller was standing in front of Hogwarts, staring up at the doors with a critical expression, his head on one side as he contemplated the entrance before him.

“Aw well,” he said eventually, sighing dramatically as he shook his head in a slightly dejected manner. “Not my favourite choice of body, really, but I’ve got to get in here, so the little details like the _why_ aren’t all that major, I suppose.”

Nodding resolutely, he spun rapidly once more, emerging in an outfit that was far different from anything he’d assumed before. He was now far bulkier than he had been before, and was dressed in dirty, tattered clothes that seemed to have been through a lot. A large chain was draped around his neck, and a hockey mask, now yellow with age, was clasped onto his face, the straps digging into the back of his head so strongly it seemed as though he’d _grown_ while wearing the mask. A large machete was clasped in one hand, and his eyes, normally so lively, seemed to have gone blank, staring ahead of him in a focused manner.

Behind the mask, however, Mark was already criticising himself for his choice of ‘outfit’ to penetrate the facility. As effective as Jason Voorhees would be in doing damage to the Death Eaters- to say nothing of the sheer intimidation factor he possessed when he looked like this- these kind of transformations also seemed to bring some of the ‘instincts’ of the form he assumed with them; what if he couldn’t stop himself from going too far…?

_No_ , Mark told himself, as he raised his machete and began to walk up to the door.

This was the only way; Jason was the only form he could think of who possessed the physical strength necessary to overwhelm the Death Eaters _and_ would most likely be immune to anything they tried to use against him.

He would just have to remain focused, that was all.

He’d made himself a promise (Or should it be _Harry_ had made a promise and he just agreed with it; Mark was never entirely sure where he ended and Harry began these days), and he’d keep it; he wouldn’t kill anybody _but_ Voldemort. He’d knock out anyone who went up against him, of course, but the machete was solely to be used to intimidate; he was _not_ going to stab or maim _anybody_ who wasn’t the ‘Dark Tosser’ with this thing.

Quite frankly, he might not even stab _Voldemort_ with it in the end; he’d decide how he wanted to take _that_ sucker out when the time came for him to make the choice.

Maybe he’d just humiliate him in a simple duel or fistfight or something like that…

In any case, he’d decide that when the time came.

Taking a deep breath, Mark brought the machete down towards the lock of the main Hogwarts doors…

* * *

  
Inside the main entrance hall, the Death Eaters on guard duty of the main entrance- relatively light duty, they’d assumed, given that nobody would _dare_ to attack the Dark Lord now- would never have a clear idea what had just taken place before their very eyes. One moment they were just standing around, idly studying their wands as they waited for something to happen…

The next, the Hogwarts doors had flown open so rapidly that it was a miracle they were still attached to their hinges when the procedure was finished, a massive blade in the middle of the hole where the door had once been. In the centre of the now-open entrance, the blade held out before him as though it were a lance and he was a knight in a jousting tournament, stood a tall man dressed in tattered clothes, broken chains and a dirty hockey mask, glaring at the two men in a cold manner.

Before either of the Death Eaters could react, the man had walked into the room, his blade outstretched before him, and, with a single swipe, had cut both their wands in half before they could retaliate, following it up with a rapid punch to the heads of both foes that left them sprawled on the ground, unconscious and with no likelihood of that state changing any time soon.

Of course, when they woke up and learned exactly _what_ they’d faced, they’d consider themselves lucky to just be alive; neither of them wanted to know what would have happened if they’d tried to fight someone with the power of a _god_ …

* * *

  
Looking down at the ‘bodies’ grimly, Mark smiled slightly in approval under the hockey mask at the sight. The two Death Eaters before him were definitely out of it, and didn’t look like they’d be regaining consciousness any time soon, but they were, at least, still breathing.

 _So far so good_ , Mark mused to himself as he looked at the hall before him, already going over where Voldemort was likely to be hiding out.

The headmaster’s office was out, as the place would have automatically sealed itself when the castle was infiltrated; he doubted anyone could even get _out_ of the office now, never mind get _into_ the room in question. Any of the other teacher’s offices wouldn’t be the same no matter how much Voldemort dressed it up, and, with his ‘God complex’, he’d want to be _sure_ that everyone _knew_ he was in charge…

And then it hit Mark.

There were _two_ rooms that fit that category _perfectly_ …

OK, they fitted it in different ways, but the point was still valid.

The only question was, what would Voldemort value more highly; size, or height?

It didn’t take long for Mark to conclude which it was; as far as he knew, Voldemort had no interest _whatsoever_ in _flying_ , suggesting that he attached no real importance to how _high_ somebody was, which left the ‘size’ option as the only likely candidate.

* * *

  
Hermione still couldn’t believe this was actually _happening_ to her. Barely three days ago, it had seemed to her that she and Ron would always be at each other’s throats, desperately trying to have more and more arguments with each other and never getting anywhere…

And now, here they were, just walking out of a muggle cinema, laughing uproariously about the fact that they’d just been kicked out of the cinema for being too _loud_.

“I can’t _believe_ that happened!” Hermione said, unable to stop herself from laughing at the memory even as she mockingly glared over at Ron. “I hope you realise that this is all _your_ fault, you know.”

“ _Mine_?” Ron said, looking over at Hermione with a mockingly hurt expression on his face. “ _You_ were the one who wouldn’t keep her voice down!”

“Ron, in my entire life, I have _never_ been thrown out of a cinema,” Hermione pointed out, as they began to walk towards the bus stop. “Can _you_ say the same thing?”

“Uh… I’ve never actually _been_ in a cinema before now, ‘Mione,” Ron said, scratching the back of his neck as he gave a slightly sheepish grin at his ‘girlfriend’ (He still wasn’t sure if he should think of her as that after only one date). “So, well, it’s not like I’ve got past experience to go by…”

Whatever was left of the mood was ruined by a loud popping sound from a nearby ally, followed by a very familiar voice yelling “Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_ …”

“ _Ginny_?” Ron and Hermione said as they hurried in the direction of the voice, staring incredulously at where Ron’s sister stood among the rubbish bags, grime staining her clothes as she looked up at them with a small smile on her face.

“Hi guys,” she said, apparently unconcerned about the fact that she’d just interrupted her brother’s date with her best friend. “How’s things?”

“What the _Hell_ are you doing here?” Ron asked, trying not to focus on the _how_ of it all; judging by the pop he’d heard, it was most likely apparition, and he really _didn’t_ want to know that his sister was capable of something like that right now. “Hermione and I-”

“ _Harry’s going after Voldemort by_ himself!” Ginny hissed at her brother.

_And that’s exactly_ why _I didn’t want to know why you were here; it was_ obviously _going to be bad news_ … Ron thought to himself.

“He _what_?” Hermione said, staring incredulously at Ginny, any anger she may have felt at Ginny’s interruption forgotten in the shock of this latest news. “But… but _why_? He doesn’t have a _chance_ …”

“You don’t think I _know_ that?” Ginny yelled, spinning around to look at Hermione in frustration. “We need to get _moving_ ; he won’t be able to last on his own against them!”

“Ginny, slow down and _think_ for a minute, will you?” Hermione yelled back at her friend, grabbing Ginny’s shoulders as though she wanted to _shake_ some sense into her friend. “What are _we_ going to do against Voldemort’s entire force of Death Eaters? Even if we _somehow_ get into Hogwarts, he’s got a veritable _army_ there; what are four of us going to do?”

“Look, _obviously_ we’re going to let the rest of the Order know what’s going on; all I’m saying is that, if we go _now_ , we may be able to make sure Harry stays alive long enough for them to get there in time to make a _difference_!” Ginny yelled back, raising her arms to shove Hermione’s arms off her shoulders. “Hermione, don’t you understand? _He told me that he_ loved _me before he went into that and I didn’t even get to say that I love him too_! _We_ have _to help him_! _I am NOT letting him DIE without at least telling him THAT_!”

Privately, Hermione was already starting to recognise exactly why Harry had fallen in love with Ginny; like him, she was incapable of letting somebody else save someone she cared about if there was something _she_ could do about it…

And the problem was, when you got down to it, Hermione wasn’t going to let Harry go into the heart of Death Eater territory on his own either.

After all, he’d risked his life to save her in their first year, and he hadn’t even _liked_ her much back then…

How could she do any less for the man who’d become the closest thing to a brother she’d ever known?

Looking over at Ron, she noticed the same quiet resolution in his stance and expression, and it made her love him all the more.

“All right; we’ll help you,” she said, as she looked back at Ginny. “Just give us a minute to let somebody know what we’re up to, and we’ll get _right_ on it.”

She could only hope that the anti-apparation wards were as limited to _Hogwarts_ as she could recall; if they couldn’t apparate anywhere close to the castle, Harry would be in _serious_ trouble…

* * *

  
As soon as he reached the door to the Great Hall- the only room that Voldemort would, in his arrogance, regard as ‘big enough’ to hold his power- Mark had already resolved to stop using the Jason Voorhees disguise as soon as the door was open.

True, it had made dealing with any Death Eaters he encountered on his way to the door a pretty easy job- despite their magical abilities, none of the Death Eaters really wanted to argue with a man holding a big knife- but, right now, as he prepared to go up against Voldemort for the final time, he didn’t want to stop his nemesis using simple brute strength.

What he wanted, he had decided, was to defeat Voldemort in a wizard’s duel.

A good, old-fashioned, straightforward wizard’s duel, where Voldemort, for what might be the first time since he assumed that _stupid_ name, met someone who could clearly overpower and outmatch him in a struggle in terms of raw magical power.

Plus, his ‘natural’ form- the form Mark typically assumed when he was active- had a definite advantage over Jason; he could make with the witty one-liners that would _really_ get on Voldemort’s nerve in a fight. The Crystal Lake Slasher was good for intimidation, but he wasn’t all that good when the time came to get on the other guy’s nerves and provoke them into making mistakes in the fight; no matter how much Mark might have wished otherwise, he couldn’t talk in a form that wasn’t able to talk already.

With that thought in mind, Mark stood in front of the doors to the Great Hall, tossed his machete off to one side, and began to spin rapidly as he charged forward, throwing the doors open as he finished his spin. The transformation complete and the doors spread open around him, the locks damaged by his ‘attack’ to the extent that they would not be fixed any time soon, Mark stood in the door, the leather coat draped dramatically over his body as he stared at the mass of Death Eaters before him, Voldemort sitting at the staff table in what had once Dumbledore’s chair.

“Well well well… look what we have here!” Mark said, chuckling as the various Death Eaters turned to stare at him in confusion. “It’s the Death Nibblers and the Dark _Tosser_!”

Looking up at the staff table, he tutted slightly as he walked into the hall, arms folded in a nonchalant manner as he stared at Voldemort, who could only stare back at him in confusion.

“You know, Tommy ol’ boy, you _really_ need to keep the ol’ horcruxes in more secure locations,” he said, enjoying the outraged expression on Voldemort’s face as his original name was said in front of all his followers. “I mean, sticking one in Malfoy’s mouth as a fake tooth? Where’s the challenge in destroying _that_? I mean, all I had to do was _crush_ the damn thing with a simple _hammer_!”

“ _Don’t_ call me… _that_ name, you _freak_ ,” Voldemort growled as he stood up to look at Mark, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the form before him in confusion. “Who _are_ you, anyway?”

Mark shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’ve been willing to be known by many names in my time, Mr Riddle,” he said, enjoying the growing look of rage on Voldemort’s face as he continued to use Voldemort’s hated, original name as he looked at him. “In the past few days alone, you could have safely called me Link, Johnny Storm, Geordi LaForge, Freddy Krueger, Sean Cassidy, Aladdin, Peter Venkman, Warren Worthington III, Bruce Wayne, and, of course, Cuban Pete.”

For a moment, Mark paused to chuckle slightly as though at a pleasant memory- his fight with Snape had _definitely_ been a fun experience- but then he turned back to glare at Voldemort, his face serious once more. “However, _you_ may refer to me as Mark Tiller… or, which is more to the point, the man who is going to kill you.”

Pulling out his wand, he aimed it at Voldemort, a casual smile on his face as he stared at the man who’d ruined his life all those years ago. “Now then, cliché though this line may be, I like to think of it as more of a _classic_ ; we can do this the easy way or the hard way. What’s your preference, Tommy?”

“ENOUGH!” Voldemort roared, as he leapt to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table as he glared at the man before him. “KILL HIM!”

Sighing melodramatically, Mark leapt into the air as a couple of nearby Death Eaters tried to hit him with the _Avada Kedavra_ curse. Waving his hands slightly as he leapt, Mark smiled in approval as the beam from the wands changed to the red of the Stunning Spell just as they struck another Death Eater; a complex trick, but it kept him safe without having anyone else end up dead in the process. He had no way of knowing if the spells could actually _kill_ him if they struck- with the power boost offered by the Mask he might just be injured if he was hit with Avada Kedavra rather than actually _die_ \- but he’d rather not find out unless he had to, and he didn’t want anyone else dying because of him.

As he landed a few feet away, Mark was already planning his next attack; lashing out with a simultaneous punch and kick, he smiled grimly as he struck two other Death Eaters in the head, sending them crashing to the ground even as he reached into his left pocket and pulled out a wooden baseball bat. Taking a couple of practice swings to test its weight, Mark leapt into battle once more, lashing out wildly at the surrounding Death Eaters with his makeshift weapon, a grim smile on his face as they all fell to his weapon; unconscious or merely stunned, he didn’t mind that much, so long as they were out of the fight for the moment.

“Does that _hurt_ , assholes?” Mark asked, as he ducked another curse and lashed out with a quick punch to the jaw that sent the Death Eater who’d fired it flying.

“How does it feel to be the _victim_ , rather than the _attacker_?” he asked, pausing to glare at the surrounding Death Eaters, who seemed rather taken aback at having to deal with a foe who was actually willing to hurt them. “How does it feel to be the one who’s getting their _ass_ kicked, rather than the person who’s actually _attacking_? How does it feel to go up against someone who can not only fight back, but fight back _really_ well?”

“How…” he growled, as he rammed the bat into a death Eater’s chest, leaving them gasping as they collapsed to the ground, air forced from their lungs.

“Does…” he continued, as he swung the bat around a complete three hundred and sixty degrees, clearing space around him as he leapt up into the air once more.

“It…” he added, as he landed on the ground once more, throwing the bat into the face of a nearby Death Eater as he thrust his fists back to punch two more in the nose.

“ _Feel_?” he roared, as he spun around to stare at Voldemort, who was still standing behind the table as he had been when Mark entered the room, his wand now raised as though waiting for a chance to strike.

Mark wasn’t going to give him that.

As far as he was concerned, Voldemort wasn’t going to see another day.

Nagini might still be alive- he vaguely noticed the snake by Voldemort’s chair- but, once Voldemort was dead now, finding a way to contain his ‘spirit’ until he could find a way to destroy it after killing the snake would be _easy_.

Fuelled by not only the power of the Mask, but by the rage and anger of being treated like the walking equivalent of garbage for ten whole years because of the man before him, Mark leapt towards Voldemort, hands outstretched as though he intended to tear the bastard apart with his bare hands, not even bothering to create a weapon for himself as he lunged at his life-long opponent…

“ _Impedimentia_!” several voices cried from behind him. Multiple Impediment Jinxes suddenly struck Mark in the back, forcing him to the ground, his body suddenly immobilised as he lay there, unable to move. Evidently, he’d just reached the limits of what he could take while wearing the Mask and still remain standing.

_Great_ … Mark thought to himself, as he vaguely registered Voldemort starting to walk towards him. The only bright side to this attack was that he now had a better idea what the Mask was capable of; under normal circumstance, being hit by this many Impediment Jinxes should have left someone dead (Something about the nerve endings that connected the brain to the lungs being forced to stop working if too many different Jinxes hit the target). The fact that he was still alive made it clear that his theory about being able to take more damage with the Mask was accurate, although he did wish he hadn’t discovered it under these conditions.

“Well, well… you still live?” Voldemort chuckled as he crouched down beside Mark, a slight grin on his face as he studied the young man who’d tried to attack him. “How… interesting.”

If Mark’s tongue wasn’t as immobile as the rest of him, he’d have told Voldemort to go to Hell right now; as it was, all he could do was glare at his foe and hope that his eyes got the message across on their own.

After a moment of exchanging glares with Mark, Voldemort stood up and beckoned a couple of Death Eaters over.

“Make sure he stays down; with his power, I somehow doubt this shall inconvenience him for long,” he said, indicating Mark as he crouched down in front of his foe, a small smile visible out of the corner of Mark’s eyes. “I wish to see exactly _why_ he wears this stupid mask…”

Mark’s eyes widened in horror.

_NO!_ he thought to himself, as he desperately tried to restore some kind of feeling in his arms and legs , as the two Death Eaters hauled him to his feet while Voldemort reached up to grab the edges of the Mask.

He may not understand entirely _how_ the Mask could enable him to do all the things he’d done so far, but if he was sure of anything, he was sure of the fact that allowing Voldemort to get his hands on the Mask could be _nothing_ but bad news.

Quite frankly, he was already thinking of getting rid of the thing as soon as he’d stopped Voldemort; it was _way_ too dangerous to keep something like this on a regular basis.

If _Voldemort_ had the powers the Mask could give its user…

_NO!!_ Mark thought once again, as he desperately urged his body to move, exerting all the magical energy he could to try and force his limbs to throw off the effects of the Impediment Jinx to lash out at his captors. _You can’t have it… you_ can’t _…_

But it didn’t work.

Even as Mark tried desperately to do something, Voldemort’s fingernails hooked under the Mask, and the familiar green energy swirled around Mark as he felt the Mask gradually come away from his face…


	19. Hedwig in the Mask

As she hurried towards the massive form of Hogwarts, only a couple of hundred feet away from her and getting closer all the time, Ginny once again took a quick glance over at the rest of her makeshift ‘attack force’, and, once again, found herself wondering why the hell she was trying something so _ridiculous_ with such a small group.

OK, so Hermione and Ron already knew what Death Eaters could do if the need arose, and both had played some pretty important roles (Albeit not the _core_ roles in the victories in question; that had always ended up being Harry no matter how much he might have wanted it to be otherwise) in helping to stop some of Voldemort’s earlier plans; did that _really_ mean they were the best choices for going up against him in Hogwarts itself, with most of his Death Eaters alongside him? She could have waited for other members of the Order, told them _all_ what had happened, have Harry be rescued by every witch and wizard they could gather…

But that might have been too late for them to help Harry; if he really was going to try and attack Hogwarts now, they _had_ to move _fast_ if they were going to be any help to him.

Besides, there’d been nobody immediately available to help them save their friend right then. When the three of them had arrived at Grimmauld Place, there had been nobody there; despite Hermione’s objections, she and Ron had both agreed that, if Harry really _was_ in danger, they had to get there to help him as soon as possible.

They’d left a note explaining what was happening to any members of the Order who might show up at Grimmauld Place- they could only hope that someone would get it in time- and had subsequently apparated to the outskirts of the anti-apparation wards of Hogwarts. Ginny had side-along apparrated with Hermione this time around; she’d taken too many risks that night to take a chance at getting an apparation wrong and accidentally splinching herself at the wrong moment. After taking a few seconds to ensure that all three of them were still ‘intact’- Ron seemed to be missing a few eyebrows, and Ginny thought that a few fingernails seemed a bit shorter, but that was about it- and then began to hurry towards the castle as fast as possible, wands drawn and ready for whatever might await them.

_Nearly… there_ … Ginny panted to herself as she stared at the castle before her, a resolved glare in her eyes.

For once, she was in a position to help _Harry_ \- she regarded the battle of the Department of Mysteries as more of an attempt to help Sirius than anything else- and she was determined not to waste it.

It was only when they were nearly at the door that Ginny realised there was more going on here than she would have expected.

For one thing, the doors in front of her- doors that _should_ have been shut, given that Voldemort was not the most inviting of people- were wide open, a large crack down the middle as though some kind of weapon had been used to force the locks open. For another thing, two Death Eaters were lying unconscious on either side of the door inside, a large bruise on their heads as though they had been knocked out rather than stunned.

Even _one_ of those details was confusing enough- why would somebody who _didn’t_ rely on magic try to attack Voldemort?- but both of them together were more than _slightly_ confusing.

“Well,” Hermione said, after briefly studying the sight before her as she glanced back at her friends, “I think it’s safe to say that, unless there’s somebody _else_ fighting in this war who we don’t know about, Harry’s already here and inside the castle.”

“But… but why would- _how_ could- he do… _that_?” Ron asked, indicating the door incredulously, confusion and shock evident on his face. “I mean, he’s good at the whole Defence Against the Dark Arts thing, but to pull off something like _this_ on his _own_? What kind of spell could do _this_ to these guys?”

“I don’t think it _was_ a spell; I think he had help,” Ginny put in, looking critically over at her brother as she indicated the bodies before them, an exasperated expression on her face as she looked at Ron. “Use your eyes, Ron; these guys have _bruises_ on their heads. They couldn’t have got them from falling down- they’re not near anything that could have caused the bruise- and Harry doesn’t have the physical strength to just knock someone out without some kind of weapon, to say _nothing_ of knocking the door open like that. Either it isn’t him or he’s got help, and the chances of somebody _else_ attacking Hogwarts on the same day as Harry have to be _pretty_ slim, if you ask me.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

“You’re right, Ginny; he _must_ have had help,” she said, looking back at her friend in approval. “Harry doesn’t do the weapon thing; he’s not much of a person for unarmed combat- and, generally, getting up close and personal with his opponents- despite his Quidditch training. There _must_ be somebody here helping him in this attack.”

“OK… so… what? There’s somebody _else_ in here helping Harry who’s capable of doing _that_?” Ron asked, indicating the hall and the fallen Death Eaters with a wave of his hand, confusion branded all over his face. “But _who_ -?”

“ _Sssh_!” Ginny yelled over at Ron, holding up a hand as she cocked her head to one side, as though listening to something.

Now that Ron and Hermione thought about it, they could hear something as well; it sounded like somebody was actually _fighting_ in some nearby part of the castle…

Specifically, in the great hall just above them, creating enough noise in the process to get through all the layers of stone and plaster between them and it.

“Think that’s Harry making that noise?” Hermione asked, looking at Ron and Ginny inquiringly.

“If it’s not him, it’s that… other guy… you know, the one who did… well, _that_ ,” Ron said, indicating the injured men lying beside them before pulling out his wand, earlier uncertainty replaced with a cool, focused confidence that only past experience at fighting Death Eaters had managed to give him. “Either way, it sounds like it’s where the action is; shall we see what we can do?”

Ginny shrugged in a falsely casual manner, a smile on her face as she pulled out her own wand.

“Can’t hurt to look anyway,” she said, as she led her brother and friend to the hall, running as rapidly as she could.

“Remember,” Hermione said, as she glanced over at the other two, “at the first sign of them getting the better of us, hide your wands up your sleeves and make it look like you’ve lost them; they’ll never think to love for them if we don’t actually _try_ to strike back.”

Ron and Ginny nodded in agreement at that strategy; indeed, it was something Hermione had some up with shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. The general basis of the plan was that, since the Death Eaters never missed a chance to attack unless something was actively _preventing_ them (Such as fear of what Voldemort would do to them if they damaged the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries), if the three of them pretended to have lost their wands, the Death Eaters wouldn’t bother to search them for it, believing that, like them, their opponents would never miss an opportunity to strike back. Besides, even if any Death Eaters were smart enough to _try_ and search for the wands, they probably wouldn’t bother, as they’d probably be so confident in their ability to disarm three students that they wouldn’t regard them as a threat once they were being held prisoner, even if there was a chance that they were still armed.

As they approached the door to the hall- left slightly ajar and hanging from their hinges, she noted anxiously; it looked like something had broken them down and nobody had been able to do anything other than make a basic attempt at shutting them- she vaguely heard a slight thumping sound, as though someone- or maybe even several someones- was trying to carry something fairly heavy and relatively large towards something else…

Then she heard something that sounded like someone trying to scream in pain, and her barely-formed resolve to wait and come up with a more elaborate plan of attack than the last time she’d been in this situation snapped.

If that was Harry, she _had_ to help him; after he’d risked his life to save her in her first year, she wouldn’t accept anything else.

Before Ron or Hermione could stop her, she’d kicked the door down- they really _weren’t_ that well-attached to the walls any more- and found herself staring in surprise as countless Death Eaters turned to look at her…

Wait.

Not _all_ of them turned to look at the three new arrivals; some of them were focused on something at the end of the hall. It looked like some kind of miniature whirlwind, a bright, vibrant green in colour, spinning around and crackling with equally bright green energy, emanating from an unidentifiable source. Three of four Death Eaters were standing close to it, but each of them were cautiously edging away as though they were afraid of the energy that was being generated there.

As Ginny stared at the vortex, she realised that she could vaguely make out a figure with a green head trapped in the middle of the ‘whirlwind’, as another figure- a Death Eater, judging by the black robe- clasped the back of the figure’s head and seemed to be trying to pull something off…

_Is that_ MarkGinny asked herself, squinting at the figure in confusion. _But what’s_ he _doing here_ …?

Then the vortex that had been surrounding the figure that seemed to be Mark suddenly vanished, and Ginny realised three things.

Firstly, the person who had been apparently pulling something off the other figure’s head was Voldemort himself.

Secondly, the self-proclaimed ‘Dark Lord’ was now holding some kind of strange wooden mask in his hands, covered in old dark green paint and seemingly _glowing_ \- albeit not in the literal sense-with some kind of magic.

And thirdly, the figure that had been in the centre of the now-vanished green vortex- the figure that had apparently been wearing the aforementioned mask- no longer looked like Mark Tiller.

In fact, it looked like…

“ _HARRY_?!” Ginny yelled in shock, only vaguely registering that Ron and Hermione were saying the same thing in equally shocked voices behind her.

The obvious implication of Harry suddenly being where Mark had been only a moment ago nearly caused Ginny to collapse from the shock of it.

_How the_ hell _could Harry be_ Mark? Ginny couldn’t help but wonder, staring at her ‘ex’-boyfriend (She still couldn’t be entirely certain where she stood regarding her feelings with this revelation) in confusion and shock.

_Harry Potter_ was _Mark Tiller_? The boy who had almost no idea how to express his feelings and had yet to fully master non-verbal magic (She loved him, but she had to admit that he _did_ have his problems) was simultaneously the wackiest, most open young man she’d ever met in her entire _life_?

Whatever else she’d been expecting was hidden under Mark’s green face-mask, she certainly hadn’t expected it to be something like _that_.

* * *

  
As soon as he heard the voices of his friends yell out his name, Harry felt like both swearing and rejoicing at this new, unexpected chain of events that had just taken place.

On the one hand, his friends had just discovered that he- or Mark, whatever way you wanted to look at it- had been lying to them for the past week or so, and he’d been tackling Voldemort’s greatest secrets pretty much on his own with only an enchanted mask of uncertain origin to assist him. If they weren’t _extremely_ angry with him for that when they next had a few moments alone together, he was going to be _very_ surprised.

On the other hand, right now, with their sudden arrival, Voldemort and the Death Eaters were briefly distracted from him and the wooden mask that the Dark Lord now held in his hands.

That moment of distraction was all that Harry needed.

He just hoped that this new plan of his worked; quite frankly, he wasn’t even sure if it _deserved_ to be called a ‘plan’, it seemed to be so pathetic, but it was all he could do right now. In these kind of conditions, getting the Mask _on_ might not be possible- Voldemort had a tight grip on it that stopped any thoughts Harry might have entertained of just _grabbing_ the Mask back- but if he could get it out of Voldemort’s grasp, he _might_ just be able to call in an ‘ally’ to make a difference in the upcoming struggle.

Lunging forward- the Impediment Jinx that had been restraining him when he was Mark apparently gone with the removal of the Mask- Harry lashed out at Voldemort with a desperate upward kick, striking his foe’s hand with such force that the powerful artefact was sent flying upwards at a rapid rate, Voldemort instinctively releasing his grip on the Mask as his hand was suddenly consumed by pain.

Even as Harry watched, his foe stumbled back into the mass of Death Eaters as they began to charge towards the Boy Who Lived, in some desperate attempt to contain their master’s personal foe before he could escape. The surprise of Voldemort literally _falling_ into them threw the Death Eaters off for a moment, leaving them uncertain whether they should attack Harry or help their master, giving Harry all the time he needed to take the desperate chance that was all he could do to keep the Mask away from anyone.

He knew he could have tried to summon the Mask down to him, but Summoning Charms could be intercepted, and he didn’t want to draw attention to the artefact by trying to grab it as it fell back to the ground. If he kept the Mask up in the air, _away_ from his foes- without resorting to a Banishing Charm for the same reason that attempts to Summon it might not work- he and his friends might have a chance yet at come out of this mess, if not in perfect shape, than at least to come out _alive_.

And, fortunately for him, he had a couple of flying ‘allies’ hanging around outside Hogwarts whom he’d trust with his life, regardless of the fact that they wouldn’t exactly be his first choices for back-up in a conventional combat situation.

“HEDWIG!” Harry yelled, his eyes fixed on the hole in the wall that the post owls normally came through when the students had mail during the school year, his fingers crossed as he hoped desperately that Hedwig was both close enough to get into the hall and smart enough to realise what he wanted her to do when she got there.

He knew that an _owl_ might not be the most sensible animal to call- particularly when Fawkes was available as well, and he knew for a fact that the phoenix could be just as, if not _more_ intelligent, than Hedwig- but, given that he knew remarkably little about both phoenixes and the Mask, he didn’t want to risk a conflict of magic between their respective magical energies; Hedwig was the less risky option.

Just as the immediately surrounding Death Eaters had grabbed the collar of his shirt, the snow-white form of Hedwig flew in from the window, dived towards the Mask just as it was beginning to fall back towards the ground, and flew underneath it so that it landed on her face. As soon as the wood made contact with her face, the ever-familiar green vortex- seen for the first time by Harry from the _outside_ \- was swirling around his owl, drawing the attention of all in the room once again.

Harry grinned as he watched the Mask transform his owl in mid-air, Hedwig hooting rapidly in surprise and what almost sounded like an owl’s cries of glee; it may not have been intended for animals, but it looked like the Mask would still give Hedwig the powers it had to offer its human users. It wasn’t as good as having the Mask himself for use in a fight, but at least it wasn’t in the hands of any of the Death Eaters for the moment; he could cope with the odds in a fight of regularly-powered Death Eaters versus him and his friends.

Now, while the Mask and Hedwig were causing a distraction in the air- it seemed to be taking longer for Hedwig than it ever did for him, probably because it had been ‘designed’ for humans and she was an owl- it was time to see what they could do about taking care of the opposition.

“ _Stupefy_!” he yelled, pulling out his wand and aiming it at a nearby Death Eater who’d just managed to get a decent grip on his shirt collar; he still couldn’t see Voldemort in the crush of bodies around him, so, for the moment, his main priority had to be getting rid of the Death Eaters immediately around him so he could have a clear shot. As soon as the Death Eater holding him back had fallen to the ground, Harry charged forward, knocking a couple of other Death Eaters to the ground, and he once again found himself looking at Ginny, Ron and Hermione, who were staring at him in shock and confusion, more than a trace of hurt evident on Ginny’s face as she stared at him.

“What are you _waiting_ for?” he said, glaring at the three of them in frustration. “Get _moving_ and take these guys _down_!”

For a moment, it seemed as though the three of them weren’t about to do anything, still shocked at what they’d just witnessed take place before them, but then, as Death Eaters began to advance towards them, Hermione and the two Weasley siblings finally snapped out of their shock, pulled out their wands, and began to strike back at their opponents once again.

As soon as they were back in action, Harry turned his attention back to the surrounding Death Eaters as they moved back in to attack him, lashing out with a desperate kick at the nearest Death Eater before launching another punch at another one, trying not to pay attention to the numerous forms that were gathering around him, apparently content to just hit him rather than try and hit him with a spell of some sort…

Then a loud screech tore through the air, and Harry suddenly found himself lying on his back, gasping for breath as though he’d just been hit in the stomach, as a brilliant green thing tore through the air, leaving the Death Eaters that had been approaching him on the ground with blood flowing freely from sudden wounds on their arms and cheeks. Hearing that same screech again, Harry glanced in the direction of the noise, and grinned broadly as he saw Hedwig- at least, he assumed that it was Hedwig, given the almost cartoonish green head on the body of the snow-white owl- hovering in the air, rapidly flapping her wings to stay in one place as she looked at him curiously.

“Good job, Hedwig!” he said giving the remarkable-looking creature that his owl a thumbs-up during the temporary lull in the fighting. “Now,” he added, indicating the snake that was still curled around Voldemort’s throne, “get Nagini!”

Nodding briefly, the MaskOwl- for lack of a better name for what Hedwig had become- turned and dived towards the throne, grabbing the snake in her talons as she flapped up into the shy, pecking at Nagini even as the snake-horcrux tried to avoid her tormentor’s attacks. A grim expression on his face- he wasn’t expecting Hedwig to take Nagini out any time soon, but she’d get there eventually- Harry turned around and dived back into the fight, lashing out with both spells and some physical attacks, taking advantage of his earlier transformation into Batman to tap into a residual combat memory. He’d noticed earlier that he sometimes seemed to retain some knowledge from the people he transformed into with the Mask- including, as it turned out, their combat skills in a tight spot.

He wasn’t an _expert_ fighter by any means- the part of his mind that was still, in some small way, Batman was appalled by the somewhat slow reflexes of his body, to say nothing of the lack of muscle- but given that the Death Eaters had _no_ unarmed combat skills whatsoever, he supposed it balanced out. After all, he may have been operating in the body of an amateur, but he had access to the knowledge of one of the best; the Death Eaters didn’t even have _that_.

Allowing his mind to relax, letting his body operate ahead of the rest of him, Harry lashed out repeatedly at the small army of Death Eaters around him, his fists and feet almost acting as separate entities from the rest of him. A karate chop to the throat that left one Death Eater coughing hoarsely, a kick to the chest sent another collapsing to the ground as he gasped for air, a third found himself with a broken nose and a shattered mask…

Despite himself, Harry couldn’t help but grin at the victory he was gaining over the Death Eaters at the moment. Glancing over, he smiled slightly as he saw Ginny, Ron and Hermione doing the same, Ron and Ginny using the reflexes born of their Quidditch practice to the full as they dodged the various curses thrown in their direction, while Hermione stayed low and struck out with her own spells in a desperate attempt to do damage while giving herself time to come up with a counter-attack.

All in all, his friends were coping well with the current situation; they’d _definitely_ improved since the mess that had taken place in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.

As Harry turned around to launch a Stunner into the face of a Death Eater he thought he recognised as MacNair, he could only hope that they’d cope well enough- or, failing that, he hoped that he was correct in his ‘guess’ of what Voldemort’s reaction would be to having _them_ as prisoners…

* * *

  
High in the air above the Great Hall, the MaskOwl slashed and bit at the snake that was desperately twisting and winding itself through her captor’s talons, the snake in question being simultaneously determined to try and kill the MaskOwl _and_ escape the talons that now held it above the ground.

The small part of the MaskOwl that was still Hedwig was totally at a loss to describe what she had become or the power she now seemed to have access to, but she knew two things for certain; Harry wanted this snake to be destroyed, and she presently had the power to do that.

Her boy needed her, and she was going to live up to his trust in her, no matter how frustrating it was trying to keep hold of Nagini at the moment.

In her claws, Nagini attempted to twist out of her grasp and head back to the ground, but the MaskOwl was too quick; no sooner had Nagini excaped her claws than they were back around the snake’s body, holding the owl’s prey tighter than ever. As the MaskOwl tore through the air at breakneck speeds that Hedwig could never have achieved in her normal form without crashing into something, she released her grip on Nagini just before she sharply banked away from a nearby wall, beating her wings rapidly to create a brief, but fierce gust of wind.

The snake’s momentum increased by the MaskOwl’s makeshift burst of wind, Nagini crashed into the wall with such force that even a snake’s adaptable body was unable to shrug off the encounter completely. Even as Nagini let out a loud hiss of pain, the MaskOwl was tearing back towards her, catching the snake as it began to fall to the ground and rocketing back upwards with such force that something else seemed to snap inside Nagini.

If it was possible for an animal with a beak to grin, the MaskOwl was doing such a thing. Even without the Mask, Hedwig was a skilled hunter, and she knew well how much damage her prey could take before it would finally die.

Unless her well-trained instincts had failed her now, Nagini couldn’t take much more damage and hope to live.

It was time to end this. Glancing at her surroundings, the MaskOwl saw the various beams supporting the Great Hall’s ceiling underneath the original enchantment of the sky outside. Beating her wings rapidly, the MaskOwl was soon above one of the beams, Nagini still clutched in her talons. In a manoeuvre that would have been impossible for a regular animal, the MaskOwl literally _reversed_ the direction that her wings flapped in and flew briefly but rapidly _downwards_ , crushing Nagini’s increasingly fragile body on the wooden beam below her. Even as Nagini hissed in pain, trying to maintain a grip on the beam with a body that was already injured, the MaskOwl flapped over to hover in front of Nagini’s face, her normally wide eyes narrowed as she glared at Nagini.

For a moment, the two magic-enhanced creatures found themselves staring at each other, Nagini twisting her head around as though preparing to bite the MaskOwl as the MaskOwl glared back at her ‘opponent’…

Then the MaskOwl lunged her head forward and bit Nagini’s head off, releasing a sudden, brief burst of dark energy that left the MaskOwl blinking slightly in surprise at what had just taken place. She’d known that her boy wanted the snake destroyed, but she still hadn’t quite expected it to have something that _dark_ inside it…

Then she heard his voice call to her from below, and the MaskOwl turned her attention back to the battle that was still waging below her.

* * *

  
As soon as Harry heard a loud scream come from the approximate location where he’d last seen Voldemort, he felt like punching the air in glee. If it weren’t for the fact that he was presently distracted by dodging the spells from a nearby Death Eater, he probably would have done it, but as it was he had to focus on staying alive.

Still, if that scream _didn’t_ mean that Voldemort had sensed the destruction of the fragment of his soul that dwelt within Nagini, he would be _very_ surprised.

Risking a glance upwards, Harry grinned as he saw the MaskOwl hovering- literally hovering; she didn’t seem to need to do much more than beat her wings a lot- beside Nagini’s rapidly-decomposing, headless body.

“Nice job, Hedwig!” he yelled up at her, lashing out with a quick kick at a nearby Death Eater, taking advantage of the distraction to slip his wand up his sleeve to keep it out of sight of the surrounding Death Eaters. “Now that you’re done, any chance you could give me some _space_ down here?”

The MaskOwl just hooted once, and then dived down towards Harry, wings spread out as she once again tore into the mass of Death Eaters surrounding Harry. Right in front of his eyes, the youngest Seeker in a century watched as Death Eaters were sent flying by the air currents generated by the owl’s speed.

Ducking swiftly to the ground as the MaskOwl passed over him, Harry waited a few seconds before getting to his feet once more, grinning as he saw the Death Eaters be thrown off the side as the MaskOwl charged through their ranks, the combination her simple physical presence and the air resistance generated by her speed sending the Death Eaters flying off to the side like bowling pins…

Then, almost as soon as he’d registered what her recent attack had done to the Death Eaters, the MaskOwl was standing on the ground beside Harry, ‘smiling’ at him as though seeking approval.

“ _Good girl_ , Hedwig…” Harry whispered, staring at her in awe as he reached over to stroke her chest feathers, a proud smile on his face as he looked at her.

Then, before any of the other Death Eaters could get at them, his hands closed around the back of the MaskOwl’s head and tugged the Mask off. For a moment the MaskOwl’s expression looked as though someone was choking it, then there was a brief ‘POP’ sound and the wooden artefact was once again in Harry’s hands, Hedwig standing before him as a normal owl once more.

“Thanks for the help, Hedwig,” Harry said, before he indicated the ceiling once more. “Now, you and Fawkes _have_ to go and get the Order of the Phoenix; I don’t think we can hold the Death Eaters off for long.”

Hedwig, to her credit, seemed fine about having her power taken from her; she just hooted at him and flew up into the air, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the still-dazed Death Eaters, the Mask in his hands as he smiled casually.

With the Mask back in his hands, it was only a matter of time before these guys were dealt with once and for all.

He raised the Mask to his face, the wood mere inches from the tip of his nose…

Then the Mask was suddenly yanked out of his hand with such force that it could only be a Summoning Charm.

“NO!” Harry yelled, spinning around to look in the direction that the Mask was flying in, a pale hand held up to catch the wooden artefact as it hurtled towards him…

Harry’s eyes widened in horror, his blood turned to ice as he saw exactly _which_ of their many opponents had pulled the Mask away from him.

It was Voldemort himself.


	20. Explanations in Cells

_Shit_! Harry thought to himself, as he stared at the piece of wood Voldemort now held in one hand, his mind already taking in the full implications of what would happen now that Voldemort was the one who had the Mask in his possession, rather than one of the other dark wizards or witches in the Great Hall.

If it had been any of the other Death Eaters, Harry might have had a chance of taking it back during the inevitable fighting among the ranks that would have taken place. He strongly doubted that _any_ other Death Eater, no matter how loyal they claimed to be, would have passed up the chance to possess something that could do what the Mask could do, and it would have inevitably caused a bit of a fight as the various Death Eaters tried to ‘stake their claim’ to the artefact in question.

But in the hands of Voldemort…

The chances of any of these guys acting _directly_ against the ‘Dark Lord’ were slim to none, and Harry doubted he’d get his wand more than half-way up before he was taken down, so summoning it back was definitely _not_ an option.

“Well well,” Voldemort chuckled, as he studied the Mask before glancing up at Harry, a wicked-looking smile on his face. “So… it would appear that, as _muggles_ say, the ‘ball’ is in _my_ ‘court’, now, Harry.”

Harry just shrugged, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt.

“Well, that’s life, I guess,” he said, indicating the Mask. “We can’t always be sure how it’ll turn out.”

Even as he spoke, a small part of Harry’s mind vaguely registered that there was no longer a battle going on behind him, but he refused to look around to check if his friends were all right; he wasn’t going to back off from Voldemort at this moment. Besides, he could still hear the faint sounds of struggling, suggesting that the others were merely being held captive rather than killed.

Most likely Voldemort wanted to kill them in front of him to make it _clear_ to Harry that he’d won their long conflict at last, but Harry didn’t feel like thinking much about that; the only thing that mattered was that his friends stayed alive until he could come up with a way to get them all out of this.

“On the contrary, Harry,” Voldemort replied, grinning slightly at the boy who had once been his downfall, “ _I_ always _knew_ it would turn out this way. You are weak… pathetic… tainted by such pitiful traits as _compassion_ and _concern_ for those around you. How anyone thought _you_ were meant to defeat me I will _never_ understand; you could _never_ have been ruthless enough to finish the job…”

Harry didn’t bother to answer; he wasn’t going to give Voldemort the satisfaction of knowing how much the so-called ‘Dark Lord’ was getting on his nerves with the current ‘You’re-nothing-more-than-an-insignificant-bug-to-me’ speech, after all the times he’d _stopped_ the bastard’s plans already. He’d have his opportunity to strike back later- he was determined to achieve _that_ much- but it wouldn’t help him if he provoked Voldemort into a fight that he _knew_ he couldn’t win this time around.

Despite the severity of the situation now facing them, Harry allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk up in a smile as he reflected on that change in his personality since he’d acquired the Mask.

In the past, he might have responded to Voldemort’s taunts anyway; he acknowledged that he was a bit… temperamental at times, no matter how much people sometimes seemed to depend on him to be a leader. But after his time in the Mask, when he’d _seen_ what happened to people who lost their temper when they fought somebody else who had more power than them (Specifically, the fact that they always _lost_ no matter what they tried), he was making more of an effort to stay silent.

He needed all of his remaining few allies- Ron, Hermione and Ginny- to be alive if they were going to pull this off and get out of whatever prison Voldemort intended to stick them in.

For a moment, the two old enemies just stood and stared at each other, each one looking reading and willing to attack the other at a moment’s notice, the intensity in their gaze so great that even the most loyal Death Eaters took a few steps back at the sight before them…

Then Voldemort turned away, waving a hand at Harry and his friends.

“Take them to the dungeons,” he said dismissively, as though he deemed Harry and his friends beneath his notice now. “I shall deal with them later.”

As the Death Eaters began to forcibly march Harry towards the doors, he finally saw the others, and smiled in relief as he saw that all three of them seemed to be fine; Ron’s nose was bleeding and Hermione had a cut on her forehead, but that aside the three of them seemed to be fine.

True, they were all glaring at him in a manner that suggested he was going to catch _Hell_ from them for not telling them about the Mask, but Harry was fairly sure that he could live with that.

All that mattered right now was that his guess as to what Voldemort’s actions would be at having him in his grasp were correct; evidently, Voldemort wanted to kill him in _public_ , to make it ‘clear’ to the wizarding world that they’d been foolish to ever believe that Harry could defeat him.

From here on in, his objectives were threefold; help his friends to escape the dungeons (After, of course, answering any and all questions they had about his ‘Mark’ identity if he had the chance to do so without anybody overhearing him), take the Mask away from Voldemort, and then he’d make sure to deal with the bastard once and for all.

Everything after that…

Well, he’d deal with it when the time came.

* * *

  
As the four of them were forced down to the dungeons, Harry made every effort he could to memorise the path they were taking for when the four of them managed to get out. So far the Death Eaters hadn’t bothered to search him for his wand- given his somewhat ‘hot-headed’ attitude before he got the Mask and managed to let off some steam, they evidently assumed he’d have tried to attack them already if he still had it- and the others had either already had their wands taken from them or they, like him, had concealed them. Harry hoped it was the former, but, given that a couple of the Death Eaters were holding wands he was fairly certain were Ron and Hermione’s wands, he was betting it was the latter.

 _Great_ , he thought to himself, briefly making sure his wand was still safely tucked up his sleeve as he continued walking. _What’s the point in breaking out if I’m the only one who can do anything?_

The thought had only just finished crossing his mind before two of the Death Eaters behind him grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into a nearby door. As he took a few extra steps into the room to avoid getting shoved by the others as they were shoved through the door, Harry noted, with no small degree of surprise at the irony of the situation, that they were in Snape’s old classroom, although it was now totally empty of any of the potions equipment he was used to seeing. In some ways, he thought it an apt choice for a ‘prison’; after all, it had pretty much been one back when it had been used by Snape.

“Might as well make yourselves comfortable, _idiots_!” one of the Death Eaters said, as Harry turned around to see Ron, Hermione and Ginny be shoved into the former classroom after him. “You should just be grateful that the Dark Lord has other matters to attend to than a bunch of idiotic students who actually thought that they could ever hope to defeat _him_ on their own!”

Harry rolled his eyes; he wasn’t sure whether this Death Eater was trying to disguise his own fear at how far they’d come, or actually _believed_ all that crap he was sprouting, but if he thought they’d be intimidated by all that crap, he was going to be sadly disappointed. He briefly noted that Ron looked like he was going to say something to that, but fortunately Hermione grabbed his arm and shook her head slightly, prompting him to remain quiet for at least the moment.

“Pathetic!” another Death Eater yelled into the room, before the door was slammed shut. Harry vaguely heard someone continuing to speak as the even fainter sound of footsteps was heard (He was fairly sure he heard the words ‘Mudblood-loving idiots’ used, but couldn’t be certain), but, before he could try and hear anything more, he heard the other three people moving around behind him, and knew that he had more immediate matters to be concerned with. He turned around, intending to start explaining as much as he could…

Only to be ‘greeted’ by a sharp slap in the face from Ginny, Ron and Hermione standing close behind her.

“ _HOW COULD YOU_?!” Ginny yelled at him, tears of rage already on her cheeks as she glared at him. “ _YOU_ LIED _TO ME_! _YOU SPENT ALL THAT TIME WITH ME AND_ LIED _TO ME_! **_HOW COULD YOU_**?!”

“Look, I know it _looks_ bad, but-” Harry began, looking hopelessly at his friends.

“ _Looks_ bad?” Hermione interjected, staring critically at Harry. “Harry, you _lied_ to us! You found something that could give you _that_ much power, and you didn’t even _tell_ us! Do you even have any _idea_ what it _was_ when you were using it?”

“ _Actually_ , I _did_ ask about what it was,” Harry said, glaring at Hermione as he spoke, trying to ignore Ginny as she continued to look at him with an intensity that made him grateful wandless magic was limited to basic ‘telekinesis’- as muggles would have described it as- at their age. If she’d been older, she might have hit him with her Bat Bogey Hex or worse, she seemed so angry with him.

Right now, however, he was pleased to see Hermione blink in surprise; it was good to know that he could still surprise her, even after all this time.

“Uh… how?” Ron said, deciding he might as well get a word in after a momentary silence settled over the room after Harry’s last statement; Ginny still seemed to be fuming too much to trust herself to speak, and Hermione seemed to have been so shock at the idea of Harry doing independent research after all the trouble he had in school that she wasn’t sure what to say.

“Well, I just apparated over to Hogwarts after the wedding and asked Professor Binns if he knew anything about something like the Mask,” Harry explained, as he moved over to sit on a table, the better to be in a comfortable position as he continued talking. “He told me that it appeared to be the Mask of Loki, a magical artefact said to have been created by the Norse God of Mischief to spread chaos among mortals. When it’s worn, it gives the user access to all of Loki’s powers, but also releases… well, the parts of their personality that they don’t normally show to the general public, as far as I could gather.”

He paused for a moment, took a deep breath as he thought over what to say next, and then nodded as he came to a decision before looking back at the others. “I think it was that, more than anything else, that stopped me telling anyone; I just… well, wanted to enjoy the _freedom_ the Mask gave me without anybody judging me.”

“Judging you?” Hermione said, staring at Harry in confusion.

“OK, maybe that’s not the right term to use; maybe I just… wanted to have something that _nobody_ knew about for a change,” Harry began to say, before he paused for a moment and then shook his head. “No, judging is definitely the right term.”

“How?” Ron asked, his forehead furrowed as he tried to process what his best friend was talking about.

“Well…” Harry began, once again taking a deep breath, as though needing a moment to gather his thoughts, before he looked back at his friends. “It’s like… well, everyone who meets me thinks of me as ‘the Boy Who Lived’ _first_ , and they think of me as a _boy_ _second_ \- and it’s gotten even _worse_ since the _Daily Prophet_ started calling me the ‘Chosen One’…”

“Oh…” Hermione said softly, her head nodding slightly as she took in what her friend had said. Ginny was still clearly fuming in rage at Harry for keeping something like this secret for so long, and Ron just looked as confused as he ever did, but Hermione was evidently pretty sure she could see where Harry was going with this.

“You’re saying… when you were ‘Mark’, you didn’t _have_ to ‘conform’ to anybody’s expectations?” she asked, looking uncertainly at Harry as she spoke.

“Exactly,” Harry said, nodding in gratitude at his friend before turning to address Ron and Ginny as well. “I know you guys don’t see me that way, but… well, it’s still kind of how I feel at times. But Mark…”

He shrugged helplessly as he indicated himself with a broad gesture before looking back at his friends. “Nobody had _any_ expectations of _him_ ; I could just be what I wanted to be.”

“And you _wanted_ to be a wild party animal?” Ginny said, speaking for the first time since Harry had started to explain, looking at him with a combination of uncertainty and surprise. “You’ve never shown any _sign_ of that…”

Despite himself, Harry chuckled a little at that.

“Well, in all fairness, when would I have had the _chance_ to show it?” he asked, looking at Ginny with a slight grin at the corners of his mouth. “I mean, in first year I was trying to adjust to this new world, second year there was the Chamber incident, dementors were all over the place in third year, the Triwizard Tournament took up all my time in fourth, and these last couple of years I’ve been more concerned with trying to cope with the war and schoolwork than actually allowing myself time to have _fun_. My time as Mark’s been the first real opportunity I’ve had to just muck about, rather than worry about the fact that everybody- or, at least, _some_ people; I know none of you would do something like that- are going to be ‘judging me’ for some crap or another…”

He shrugged slightly as he looked at the three of them. “Well, I just wanted to make the most of the opportunity to see how you reacted the _that_ version of me.”

For a moment, there was only silence in the room as the other three contemplated what Harry had told them, before Harry continued to speak again.

“I know that I lied to you all…” he said, looking apologetically around at his friends, “but… well, I guess I both thought it was safer keeping you in the dark about who he really was- if you just thought Mark was some guy with odd powers, nobody would try and attack you to get more information about him- and… and…”

“You wanted to continue enjoying the freedom Mark gave you to see how we’d react to him as _Mark_ , rather than him as an aspect of _you_?” Hermione asked. Her expression, Harry was relieved to see, was neutral, rather than the out-and-out anger he’d expected her to show. Ron was in a similar state- although in his case it looked like he was still thinking over how he felt about the whole thing- and Ginny…

She was just looking at Harry silently, a thoughtful expression on her face, clearly trying to decide how she felt about everything that they had just learned.

Harry wasn’t sure whether he should be concerned about that or not, but, right now, it was a relatively minor problem in the overall scheme of things; if they didn’t get out _soon_ , the odds were good that they’d be killed by Voldemort.

“Anyway,” he said, clapping his hands together once as he looked around at the others, “we’ve got to get on with the important matters right now; we’ve got to get out of here and get the Mask away from Voldemort before he can do any damage with it. It might be possible for a _group_ of wizards to defeat someone using it- it certainly was when _I_ was wearing it- but I’d rather not take a chance that Voldemort will go down as fast as I did.”

“And we’re meant to get out of here, _how_?” Ron said, looking critically at his best friend. “They took our wands!”

“Correction,” Harry said, smiling as he reached into his sleeve and pulled out his wand. “They took _your_ wands; I hid mine away.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise as she stared at the wand Harry held in his hand.

“You… you _hid_ your wand up your _sleeve_?” she said incredulously. “And nobody _checked_ there?”

Harry shrugged.

“In a way, Mark’s somewhat ‘wild’ influence actually had a positive effect on my temper without the Mask on; I’m not quite as… volatile… without it as I used to be,” he said. Noting Hermione’s slightly surprised expression as she looked at him, he shrugged. “What; you though I’d _always_ be a hot-headed character who dives into the situation first and thinks _later_? People _do_ change, Hermione.”

“Uh… right…” Hermione said, looking at Harry in a manner that somehow managed to be both apologetic and sheepish. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I was kidding,” Harry said, smiling reassuringly at the girl he considered a sister before he turned back to the door of their ‘cell’ and raised his wand. “OK, as soon as I unlock that door, get ready to _move_ ; there’s no way of knowing if there are guards outside the door or not…”

“Wait,” Ron said, raising a hand as he stared at the door, walking forward slightly with one ear ‘facing’ the door as he walked.

“Something wrong?” Ginny asked, looking in concern at her brother.

“Maybe…” Ron muttered, as he looked back at his friends. “I might be wrong, but I _think_ I just heard somebody fall down out there…”

“Fall down?” Hermione said, looking over at Ron in confusion. “Do you mean ‘fall down’ as in ‘tripped’?”

“No… I’m _pretty_ sure the guy wasn’t walking when it happened…” Ron said, nodding slightly as though trying to encourage his memory of what he’d heard.

Now that Harry thought about it, he could hear the faintest sound of a fight going on out there himself; it wasn’t all that audible through the thick door and walls, but, when you focused, you could _definitely_ hear something going on out there.

Somebody was fighting with a guard out there.

“Shall we help out?” Ron asked, looking inquiringly back at Harry.

Harry looked at Ron with an expression that suggested he thought that his friend had practically grown an extra head.

“You have to ask?” he asked, indicating the door. “You know what they say, Ron; ‘the enemy of my enemy of my friend’. Somebody out there’s fighting with the Death Eaters; that’s enough for me right now.”

“Harry’s right, Ron,” Hermione said, looking over at Ron with a briefly critical gaze, as though frustrated at her new boyfriend’s lack of knowledge about a basic thing like _that_ , before she looked over at Harry. “Where do you want us?”

“All of you need to get behind me while I open the door,” Harry said, jerking a thumb behind him as he raised his wand and began to move towards the door. “If there’s something dangerous out there, I’m the one best suited to deal with the problem; you three aren’t armed at the moment.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said, as she moved to stand behind Harry, Ron and Ginny following her example. After a quick check over his shoulder to make sure they were all in position, Harry moved up the door, pointed his wand at the lock, and muttered “ _Alohamora_!” under his breath. Instantly, the door was unlocked, and the four former prisoners dived out of their ‘cell’, ready and willing to help whoever it was that was currently fighting the Death Eaters…

Or, at least, they _were_ willing to help up to the point when they saw who it was that was struggling with the Death Eater in question- specifically, a person who all of them knew and none of them particularly liked.

As the first one to see who they were dealing with, it almost automatically fell to Harry to voice the shock all four of them felt as they realised exactly _who_ had apparently come to their ‘rescue’.

“ _Wormtail_?” Harry said, half to himself, as he stared at the small, rat-like human being who’d betrayed his parents and was currently rolling around on the ground, scratching and squeaking as the larger man he currently fought like the rat he’d spent twelve years as.

Whoever he’d been expecting to try and help him, he hadn’t been expecting it to be _that_ sucker.


	21. Harry VS VoldeMask: Round One

Despite what he’d said to Ron while they were still in the cell, about how the enemy of their enemy was their friend, for a moment, Harry was tempted to leave Wormtail to fight it out with the Death Eater on his own. After all, the rat animagus had done nothing to make Harry even _want_ to save him in the first place; why should he stick his neck out to save Wormtail just because he was now apparently trying to help him…?

The reason was simple; Wormtail seemed to be trying to help him and his friends escape from their current predicament.

In this kind of situation, Harry would at least like to know _why_ Wormtail was doing that before he made any judgement calls about what to do with the man who’d betrayed his parents.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” he yelled, pointing his wand at the two combatants before him and his friends. As soon as the spell was out of his mouth, the Death Eater Wormtail had been fighting with was sent flying backwards, his mouth opening in a brief gasp before he crashed into the stone wall behind him with an unpleasant crunching sound.

As the Death Eater’s unconscious body fell to the ground, Harry noticed with relief that his neck wasn’t broken- no matter how badly his original plan had gone wrong, he wasn’t going to _kill_ anybody but Voldemort unless he had no other option- but one arm was twisted at an awkward angle and there was a nasty gash above his right eye.

“Th-thank you…” Wormtail stuttered, loking shakily up at Harry through his ever-slightly-watery eyes. “I-I don’t know wh- _what_ he would have done to me… he was an _animal_ … you _saved_ my life…”

“ _Don’t_ try and win me over with _stories_ ; just stick to the _facts_ ,” Harry growled, pointing his wand at Wormtail as his father’s former friend knelt before him, staring back at him with wide, terrified eyes. “You have a minute to explain to me exactly _what_ you’re doing here, as well as _why_ I shouldn’t knock you out as well, and after that, we’re all going to hit you with the first spell we can think of, OK?”

“R-right…” Wormtail muttered, looking awkwardly at the four young wizards before him. “W-well… you see, the truth of the matter is…”

“Yes?” Ginny interjected, glaring at the man who’d ruined Harry’s life for almost as long as he could remember.

“…is that…” Wormtail paused, briefly looking like he’d never actually be able to finish his sentence due to his teeth chattering so much, before he finally looked at them with an intensity that was totally at odds with his usually watery gaze, “I h- _hate_ my life.”

Harry stared at Wormtail for a moment before speaking again.

“So… what? You want us to kill you?” he asked, raising his wand once more, a still-harsh glare in his eyes. “Trust me, you’ve come to the right place if you want death…”

“NO!” Wormtail yelled, looking desperately at Harry. “I w-want it to _end_ , yes, but I-I just want _out_ of _this_ place; I’ll take _anywhere_ over spending another _second_ with all these Death Eaters! You’re the only p-people who’ll _ever_ listen to me rather than just k-kill me on sight; I h- _had_ to t-try and get you o-out if I was _ever_ going to talk to _anybody_ about what I w-wanted…”

“Hold on; can I make sure we’re on the same page of the ‘novel’ here?” Hermione interjected, looking critically at Wormtail. “Are you telling us you let us out… so we can send you to _prison_?”

Wormtail looked over at Hermione, a pained expression on his face, and, after a moment’s pause, he nodded slightly.

“I j-just want _out_ of this…” he said, looking back at Harry as he spoke. “Please… you _have_ to help me… I don’t want to stay here any more… you _have_ to stop this… this _nightmare_ …”

“You know, _that’s_ the part I don’t really understand,” Ron retorted, managing to make his voice sound relatively nonchalant despite his inner excitement and curiosity at what he was currently hearing. “You’re saying you _hate_ your life right now, yet you’re the person who gave the Death Eaters their leader back in the first place? Surely they’d be pretty much falling over each other to _congratulate_ you for what you did for them?”

Despite his currently terrified attitude, Wormtail snorted slightly in a sarcastic manner.

“A-As _if_ ,” he said, sounding almost sarcastic as he looked at the four Hogwarts students before him. “Even those Death Eaters who v- _venerated_ the D-Dark Lord don’t like me because I ‘took so long to bring him back’; can you imagine the treatment I get from th-those Death Eaters who actually didn’t _like_ having to follow the Dark L-Lord again after spending thirteen years free t-to do their own thing?”

Ginny nodded slightly as she glanced over at Harry.

“You have to admit, he makes a good point,” she said, shrugging casually as she looked at her boyfriend. “I mean, I don’t think Malfoy was exactly pleased at having to lose all the authority he’d gathered in the Ministry in the years since Voldemort snuffed it, and he was hardly the _only_ ex-Death Eater in a position of power following Voldemort’s death. It’s not _totally_ impossible that he’s telling us the truth…”

“Yeah… I guess…” Harry mused, staring thoughtfully at Wormtail for a moment, his wand still held out in front of him.

On the one hand, this was the man who’d betrayed his parents and condemned him to live with the Dursleys for ten whole _years_ , being belittled and humiliated at every available opportunity, all because he was too afraid for his own miserable life to _bother_ risking himself for the people who would have died to protect _him_ …

But, on the other hand, he wanted to get his friends to safety, and this man seemed to be the only way of doing that.

Even putting that aside, he’d certainly given them a plausible explanation as to _why_ he was helping them escape; it certainly fit with everything Harry had gathered about the Death Eaters in his encounters with them. They all operated on a policy of ‘Look out for ‘Number One’ first and leave everyone else out to dry’, and only the more fanatically devoted of Voldemort’s followers- such as the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange, of course- actually seemed to be _happy_ about the situation as it currently stood.

Either way, Wormtail would be getting a great deal of abuse from both sides; those Death Eaters who’d acquired power for themselves would now have to deal with having to ‘share’ it with Voldemort all over again, and those who’d been the most devoted to Voldemort would be angry that Wormtail hadn’t done anything to resurrect the Dark Lord earlier.

Besides, when you got down to it, Harry’s options were limited; with the Mask in Voldemort’s hands, his only real chance at stopping the ‘Dark Lord’ who could use that kind of power would be a quick, unexpected strike as soon as possible while his friends got out of here as soon as they could.

“OK,” he said simply, nodding briefly at Wormtail before looking at his friends. “You’d all better get out of here and wait for the Order; there’s too many Death Eaters here for you to take them all on. Wormtail and I will go after Voldemort; knowing Tom, he’s probably issued orders that nobody but him is to kill me, so that gives me a few more options than you if I get into a fight.”

“Harry-” Ginny began, glaring at her boyfriend before Harry held up a hand to stop her.

“Please, Ginny,” he said, looking at her. “I can’t do this if I don’t know you guys are all safe; I _need_ to know that you’re out of Voldemort’s clutches if I’m going to win this.”

_And if Wormtail’s whole story_ does _turn out to be a trap_ , Harry added to himself, hoping that the others would guess what he was thinking, _I’d rather it was just me who had to deal with it._

_I need to know that_ somebody _who knows what’s happened here tonight lives through this, no matter how slim the odds are that they’ll be able to do_ anything _against the Mask_ …

It was a somewhat pessimistic attitude, he knew, but he had to be practical; of all the people he’d encountered as Mark, Ginny had the most experience with his powers in that form. If he couldn’t stop Voldemort now, she’d be everyone’s best bet at working out a suitable defence against the new ‘Dark Lord’…

After a moment’s silence, Ginny nodded in a resigned manner.

“OK…” she said, sighing as she looked at Harry, frustration evident on her face as she looked at him. “Just so you know, I _don’t_ like this.”

“I know,” Harry said, smiling slightly at her. “I think that’s why I love you, to be honest; you’re as stubborn as I am when you put your mind to it.”

Walking over to Ginny, Harry took her in his arms, gave her a brief kiss on the lips, and then turned to look at Wormtail.

“OK then, _Peter_ ,” he said, somehow managing to make Wormtail’s real name sound like a curse, determined to make it clear that he still didn’t trust the former marauder as far as he could throw him “let’s-”

“J-just one th-thing…” Wormtail said, slowly reaching into his back pocket. For a moment, Harry tensed up, preparing himself for the possibility that this might be another attack, but then he pulled out three wands, their handles facing outwards, and Harry relaxed, he recognised those wands easily enough.

“I t-took them from the ot-other D-Death Eaters after they’d l-locked you u-up; they told me to s-snap them,” Wormtail explained, as he passed the various wands over to Ron, Hermione and Ginny, managing a slight, if shaky, smile as he did so. “The a-advantage of being basically the s-servant; everybody just e-expects you to d-do whatever they ask of y-you at once.”

“Uh… thanks,” Ron said, slightly uncertainly, as he took the wand and casually waved it, the familiar trail of sparks that showed the wand had ‘chosen’ him flying from the wand as he did so. Glancing over at the others, Harry was pleased to note that the same thing was happening with Ginny and Hermione as they experimented with the wands they’d taken; at least Wormtail had done _something_ good for them, even if his information was still to be taken with a grain of salt.

“Thanks,” he said simply, looking back at Wormtail. “Now… take me to Voldemort.”

Nodding in acceptance at the young man before him, Wormtail turned around and began to hurry along the corridor. Harry turned to look at his friends, gave them one last encouraging nod, and then ran after Wormtail, his wand clenched tightly in his hand.

Even as he hurried up the stairs away from the dungeons, Harry knew that he would be most likely heading for his death. After all, Voldemort already had a greater knowledge of magic than Harry could hope to possess at this point in his life, and with the Mask in his possession, the odds tilted ever more drastically in his favour…

But Harry had never given up hope easily.

Even when living with the Dursleys, he’d never lost hope of somehow getting out of Privet Drive and away from Dudley, finally having the opportunity to make a life of his own…

It had been a slim hope back then, but ‘slim’ was better than ‘none’, as far as Harry was concerned.

He wouldn’t give up hope now.

As he hurried along the corridors of Hogwarts, Wormtail occasionally turning around and waving him into a nearby classroom to evade passing Death Eaters- Wormtail always shifted into rat form when that happened, rendering him practically invisible unless you already knew he was there-, Harry grew ever more tense as they approached the main hall, constantly glancing around himself in an attempt to make sure no Death Eaters were just following them until they reached a point where there would be no way for the two of them to escape…

But nothing like that happened.

Soon, the two of them were standing outside the Great Hall, Wormtail looking anxiously at Harry as he indicated the Hall.

“H-he’s st-still in there,” the man once called Peter Pettigrew (As far as Harry was concerned, Pettigrew had died when he betrayed Harry’s parents, and ‘Wormtail’ was the only name he really deserved) said, indicating the hall. “I th-think he’s p-practicing with the m-mask he got from y-you; I definitely heard s-something that _wasn’t_ a conventional spell being u-used in there…”

“He’s already wearing it?” Harry asked, looking anxiously at Wormtail. The wizard nodded, and Harry groaned.

_Great…_ he mused, staring forlornly at his wand; given how little effect conventional curses had on him when he was using the Mask, he somehow doubted he could just Summon the Mask off Voldemort’s face to even the odds.

He glanced critically over at Wormtail, rapidly scanning the battered man who’d just risked everything to help him escape; even if he _didn’t_ have serious doubts about Wormtail’s loyalty in a crisis situation, he wouldn’t have trusted this guy to hold his own in a fight with _Malfoy_ , never mind a Voldemort who was using the magic-enhancing powers of the _Mask_.

“You just get out of here,” he said, jerking his thumb towards the door. “And I’m trusting you to wait for the aurors, on the grounds that, if you _don’t_ wait for them, when you’re found after running away- and with that rat form of yours now known, you _will_ be found- I will personally make sure that you get a cell so uncomfortable that you won’t be able to find a decent place to sleep even when you’re a _rat_. Got me?”

Wormtail nodded slightly, his eyes wide in fear as he stared at Harry’s determined glare.

“Good,” Harry said casually, before turning around to face the door, slipping his wand up his sleeve as he did so; he didn’t want to give Voldemort any reason to focus on his _wand_ until he’d managed to see what the guy was using the Mask for.

Given that he’d seized every available opportunity to watch television and read books back when he’d been with the Dursleys, he’d had a fairly broad scope of knowledge of popular culture to provide him with inspiration for his transformations as Mark, but as far as he knew Voldemort had never shown much interest in fiction, so it was possible his use of the Mask would be ‘limited’ to just enhancing his normal magical powers. Of course, even _with_ that ‘limitation’, Voldemort wouldn’t exactly be easy to deal with, particularly since Harry doubted he could just _summon_ the Mask off Voldemort’s face- it seemed pretty well-fixed there as far as he could see- which left him facing a super-powered dark lord who had an unhealthy obsession with wanting him dead.

_So what else is new_? Harry asked himself, a small smile crossing his face at the thought.

With that, he reached out, took the door handles, opened the doors…

And stared with wide eyes at the sight before him.

Voldemort stood in the middle of the hall, nobody else visible in the room; evidently, he hadn’t wanted the Death Eaters around while he practised with the Mask, although Harry doubted it had been out of concern for them as he practiced with his new powers. He was still dressed in his traditional long dark robes, but the cloak over Voldemort’s shoulders was now made of leather and held onto him by thick silver clasps in the form of the Slytherin crest.

Like when Harry became Mark, Voldemort’s head had become green, retaining his customary baldness and serpent-like features, but where Mark was no more physically imposing than Harry was, the VoldeMask (As Harry was already beginning to think of this new foe as) was significantly more muscular than the conventional Voldemort, most likely reflecting Voldemort’s inflated self-image; Harry doubted Voldemort had any interest in physical combat, so the muscles weren’t there for _that_ reason. He no longer held his wand, but the faint trace of red energy crackling around his fingertips when Harry stepped in made it clear that the reason the VoldeMask didn’t have a wand was that he didn’t _need_ it.

As soon as he heard the doors open, the VoldeMask turned to look in the direction of the door, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the person standing there.

“Ah, Harry,” he said, as nonchalantly as though he was addressing an old friend rather than the boy whose life he’d ruined out of his own selfish desire to survive. “You got out of my little prison, I see?”

“Yeah… I got out,” Harry stated, glaring at the VoldeMask in a manner that he doubted reflected even half of the confidence he was trying to express. A part of his mind noted that the VoldeMask’s voice now sounded lower and more raspy, almost as though he was recovering from a serious throat infection of some kind…

In many ways, that made him almost scarier.

“And you _honestly_ think you can fight me?” the VoldeMask asked, retaining his nonchalant attitude as he faced the young man before him. “I possess the power of a _god_ ; you think that _you_ can defeat _me_?”

Harry shrugged casually as he stared at his adversary.

“You know what they say,” he said, slightly shifting his body into a combat stance as he kept his eyes fixed on his opponent. “Nothing is impossible.”

With that, his wand still hidden up his sleeve, he charged towards the VoldeMask, one fist outstretched as he aimed a powerful punch at the VoldeMask’s face, his knuckles making contact with his foe’s eye…

Only for the VoldeMask to lash out with an _Expelliarmus_ curse from one finger that sent Harry flying backwards into a wall. The blow didn’t seem to _break_ anything- the jinx was clearly a relatively light one that was already beginning to lose force when it started, so he didn’t hit the wall as hard as he might have done- but, as Harry collapsed to the ground, he was left gasping for air, clutching his back as a brief, sharp spike of agony flew through his body.

“A valiant attempt, Harry,” the VoldeMask said, staring nonchalantly at the young man he’d become determined to kill from the moment he first heard about a prophecy from a future Potions Master, over seventeen years ago. “But a foolish one; you cannot _hope_ to match me now. You never could.”

“Well, I adhere to a simple philosophy when it comes to fighting,” Harry said, shrugging dismissively as he stood up, determined to ignore the pain in his back as he planned out his next attack. “If at first you don’t succeed…”

Even as he continued speaking, he ran forward, his fist raised to strike once more as he launched another punch at the VoldeMask’s chest, instinctively opening his hand out to strike at his foe with the points of his fingers (He assumed it was some residual instincts from a couple of the forms he’d assumed as Mark who knew _anything_ about unarmed combat)…

And, once again, nothing happened; the VoldeMask sent Harry flying in the split second between Harry realising that his attack hadn’t worked and Harry having time to come up with a new plan.

_OK_ … Harry mused to himself as he lay on the ground, wincing in pain as he clutched at his right thigh. _This is_ not _working out so well_.

On the bright side, though, it would appear his theory about Voldemort’s use of the Mask was accurate so far; apart from the obvious detail of being far stronger and faster than Voldemort was normally the VoldeMask hadn’t done anything to him that Voldemort wouldn’t theoretically be able to do without it. If their positions had been reversed, Harry would probably have transformed into a costumed hero of some kind, or at least given himself some elaborate weapons, but so far the VoldeMask hadn’t even tried to use a spell; he just seemed to be instinctively throwing Harry off to the side, taking advantage of his enhanced strength but not really using anything else.

“Do you know what the definition of insanity is, Harry?” the VoldeMask continued, chuckling slightly as he stared at the young man before him. “If not, you should, for you’re showing one of the key signs of it yourself; it is doing the same thing over and over again… and expecting a different result when you try it.”

“And you know what I say to that?” Harry countered as he stood up, glaring fixedly at the man before him. “You’d know a _lot_ about that; you’ve been doing pretty much the same thing every time we’ve fought, trying to kill me and me always escaping. How can you say _I’m_ the mad one here when I’ve only been doing this for the last few minutes and you’ve been doing it for the last seventeen _years_?”

“Besides,” he added, allowing himself a small chuckle- it couldn’t hurt to make himself appear more confident than he was, “it only counts if I actually _expected_ to stop you with those attacks.”

Before the VoldeMask could process that, Harry, deciding a rapid change of tactics was in order, had slid his wand out of his sleeve, raised it to point at his opponent, and ‘yelled’ _Levicorpus!_ in his mind as ‘loudly’ as he could. Instantly, the VoldeMask was turned upside down, hovering incredulously in the air for a moment before Harry cast a rapid “ _Expelliarmus_!” that sent him flying back into the opposite wall.

Knowing that this latest ‘strategy’ of his wouldn’t keep the VoldeMask ‘occupied’ for long, Harry seized his chance; rushing forward (Taking care to slip his wand up his sleeve; hopefully he’d held so close to his arm that the VoldeMask wouldn't have seen it, and simply assume that he’d been doing wandless magic of some kind), Harry grabbed the back of the VoldeMask’s head and desperately pulled at the seam where the Mask met at the back of Voldemort's head, praying that he’d manage to get the artefact away from his enemy this way…

The spell struck him so rapidly that Harry was half-way across the hall before he realised he’d even been hit with an _Expelliarmus_ himself.

_This is_ definitely _not_ _working out well_ … Harry groaned to himself; his mouth was bleeding, and his left arm didn’t feel like it would be up to much any time soon either.

If he didn’t figure out a way to end this _fast_ , he was in _serious_ trouble.

“ _Reducto_!” he yelled, desperately ‘flicking’ his wand back into his hand and launching a curse in the VoldeMask’s direction, cursing as he looked up just in time to see his opponent ‘deflect’ the attack with a mere wave of his hand; evidently, Voldemort was starting to really _think_ about what he could do with the Mask. Rolling along the floor of the hall, Harry desperately launched a variety of rapid spells at the VoldeMask while trying to stay on the move to evade his foe, but each spell was either deflected or did no real damage.

Just as Harry had leapt back onto his feet and was preparing to try another head-on attack- he was thinking a quick kick to the stomach this time around- the VoldeMask, as casually as though he was swatting a bug- something that Harry _really_ resented; he hadn’t come all this way to be treated as though he wasn’t even wroth the effort of a decent fight- held up a hand and cast what seemed to be another _Expelliarmus_ , sending Harry flying back into the wall with such force that Harry couldn’t believe that he could still move his legs afterwards.

_No_ … he groaned to himself, as he strained to get back onto his feet. _Get up… you can do this… you can_ do _this…_

The problem was that, no matter how hard he _tried_ to stand up, his body just didn’t have the strength. The VoldeMask may not have _killed_ him- clearly Voldemort wanted to rub Harry’s loss in his face, rather than just kill him outright- but he’d done so much damage to Harry’s body over the course of the fight that it was clear that Harry wouldn’t be posing a significant threat to the ‘Dark Lord’ in continued single combat any time soon.

Staring at the gasping, bruised and bleeding form of the young man whom it had been prophesised would be his downfall, the VoldeMask smiled as he raised one hand, a brilliant green glow surrounding it as he stared at Harry.

“Game over, Harry Potter,” he said, staring at the soon-to-be-deceased young wizard before him, a broad grin on his green face. “You’ve given me _quite_ the challenge…”

His eyes narrowed as he stared at Harry, the young wizard weakly turning to look at him defiantly despite his cracked glasses and the fresh blood streaming from his scar, covering his eye.

“But,” the VoldeMask continued, raising his glowing hand to point it at Harry, his grin spreading even wider across his face, “in the end… I fulfilled my inevitable destiny.”

With that, his expression almost seemed to become polite as he looked at Harry as though he _wasn’t_ about to blow his foe’s head off.

“I’ve won,” the VoldeMask said, dismissively staring at Harry before his voice took on a mockingly polite tone. “Any last words?”

Then, with a flash, it hit Harry.

With all Dumbledore had taught him about Voldemort, he suddenly knew that there _was_ a way to escape this current situation…

Glaring back at Voldemort, he grinned, hoping that his mouth wasn’t as badly battered as it felt; he needed to be able to speak properly if he was going to make his point right now.

“Coward,” he said as clearly as he could, glaring up at Voldemort as he said it.

If this didn’t work, he’d be no worse off than he would have been otherwise…


	22. Harry VS Voldemort: Round Two

“WHAT?” the VoldeMask roared, glaring at Harry, clearly unable to believe what his foe had just said to him. “You dare- you _dare_ \- to call me a _coward_? When I stand here, ready to destroy you at a _moment’s_ notice-”

“Because of a magical mask that enhanced your abilities to a point where any attempts to do _any_ kind of damage to you in a fight are pretty much pointless?” Harry retorted, glaring at the VoldeMask as he slowly staggered back to his feet; if this strategy didn’t work, he’d die _standing_ , not lying on the ground like he was a victim. “Not exactly much of a victory, is it? I mean, you’re using the power of a _god_ to deal with a _student_ ; that seems just a _bit_ excessive to me, really…”

“You _dare_ -” the VoldeMask continued, raising one hand to point at Harry.

“Repetitive _and_ afraid of a straight fight; not really a good combination for a self-proclaimed ‘Lord’, is it?” Harry retorted, grinning slightly at his foe. “Face facts, Tom m’boy; you’re _afraid_ of me. We’ve only ever fought _once_ face-to-face up until now- that graveyard encounter after you got your body back, remember?- and even then, you couldn’t actually _do_ anything to me; all you could do was keep me occupied until I got away.”

“ _That_ ‘victory’ of yours was a _fluke_ at _best_ ,” the VoldeMask growled, his hand still raised as he glared at Harry. “You _won’t_ have another-”

“Are you _sure_ it was only a fluke the last time?” Harry inquired, trying to sound polite despite the nagging pain in his side; he really hoped Voldemost would act like he thought he would, otherwise he’d have a serious problem when the fight started up again. “Just, the way I see it, you _automatically_ using something like the Mask against me- something that significantly _enhances_ your magical powers- rather than fighting me using only your own, _natural_ magical abilities? Maybe it’s just me, but it _kind_ of suggests that you’re… well, that you’re afraid I’ll manage to _beat_ you.”

“Beat _me_?” the VoldeMask laughed, lowering his hand as he stared incredulously at Harry. “Look at yourself, Harry James Potter; you can barely even _walk_ right now! What makes you think you could _ever_ defeat _me_?”

“Maybe you’re unbeatable _now_ … but what about _without_ the Mask?” Harry retorted, crossing his fingers behind his back as he stared at his opponent. “Quick question about your use of the Mask here, Tom m’boy; could you have killed me _without_ it, or did you _need_ the Mask to win?”

For a moment, the VoldeMask hesitated, not even responding to Harry’s use of his original name, and Harry grinned.

_Jackpot_.

Just like he’d suspected, like he wouldn’t have used a Philosopher’s Stone to achieve immortality because he didn’t want to be dependent on the Elixir of Life, Voldemort would _hate_ the idea that he _needed_ the Mask to win a fight with _any_ opponent…

“Oh, you could kill me right now, I’m not denying that,” Harry continued, desperately resisting the temptation to wince in pain; the slightest sign of weakness and the VoldeMask would use that to his advantage. “You _could_ kill me in a matter of seconds with the Mask… but even after I’m dead, you’d always be wondering; _Did you need the Mask to win_?”

The VoldeMask was silent for a moment, and Harry continued. “It’s a simple question; did you _need_ an object as powerful as the Mask to defeat a seventeen-year-old wizard who isn’t even fully qualified yet, or could you have done it without the Mask’s power ‘backing you up’?”

As the VoldeMask remained silent, Harry held up his hands in a position of surrender, and directed a small, inquiring smile in his foe’s direction. “What’s it going to be? Beat me with the Mask and never know whether you could have done it on your own, or try and take me on in a fair fight… _without_ that particular little ‘extra’?”

For a moment, there was silence in the great hall as the two enemies stared at each other, Harry ready to make a move if his ‘strategy’ turned out to have been the wrong idea…

Then the VoldeMask growled and raised a hand to point at Harry.

“I will _never_ be accused of _needing_ anything, Potter!” he yelled, as he pointed a finger at Harry. “ _Episkey_!”

Instantly, Harry suddenly found himself feeling perfectly healthy once again; indeed, if it weren’t for the fact that he was still pretty much covered in blood, he could almost swear he’d never been beaten up in the first place.

Despite himself, he had to admit to being impressed at the power the Mask gave the user; to give a spell intended to heal _minor_ injuries the power to heal all the damage _he’d_ taken?

No two ways about it, _that_ was impressive…

Then he heard the screams of agony that indicated that the Mask was being removed from its current wearer’s face, and he grinned.

He’d done it.

Voldemort was no longer accessing the powers of a god; he was just using the powers of a normal wizard.

Now all he had to do was use the fact that Voldemort was no longer as powerful as he’d been earlier and hope that it made enough of a difference for him to win this fight; even _without_ the Mask, Voldemort was hardly going to be a pushover…

Tensing himself, Harry kept his gaze fixed on Voldemort, waiting for the moment when the Mask would be totally clear of Voldemort’s face- it seemed to be taking far longer for Voldemort to get the thing off than it had ever taken Harry, maybe because Voldemort had more fundamental control over the Mask than Harry ever had- even as he slipped his wand back up his sleeve; having it available would be useful, but he wasn’t going to _start_ the fight using it.

As soon as the vortex around Voldemort faded, Harry seized his chance; before Voldemort could even reach for his wand, Harry had ran forward as fast as he could and launched a powerful punch at his opponent’s chin, sending Voldemort staggering back momentarily. As Harry yanked Voldemort’s wand out of his right hand and tossed it off to the side- he wasn’t going to allow Voldemort even the _slightest_ chance of using a spell- the most hypocritical wizard of the century could only stare at the young man before him, a shocked expression on his face as he tried to take in what had just happened.

“Surprised, _Tom_?” Harry asked, looking scornfully at his long-time foe as his opponent’s wand clattered silently in one corner of the hall. “Did you honestly think I’d stick to using _magic_ against _you_? Snape may _talk_ about me being arrogant until he’s blue in the face, but I’m at least practical enough to know when I’m ‘outgunned’, as some might say.”

Knocking the Mask out of Voldemort’s left hand and off to the side before the self-proclaimed ‘Dark Lord’ could put it back on again- he hadn’t been able to reach it earlier, and Harry would prefer to try his luck _without_ the Mask for the moment; he didn’t want to use the Mask unless he was _sure_ he’d need it, there was no point becoming overly dependent on the thing- Harry instinctively shifted his body into a combat stance, raising one hand and beckoning at Voldemort with his fingers.

“You want a piece of me?” he asked casually, as he looked at the man who’d ruined his life. “Come and get it with your _hands_ … if you’re gutsy enough.”

Evidently, that particular comment, childish though it was, was enough to get through Voldemort’s last nerve; roaring in rage, he charged towards Harry, lashing out with a rapid (If evidently amateurish) punch that Harry nimbly dodged, before retaliating with a quick blow of his own that struck Voldemort’s cheek.

_Here we go_ , Harry thought to himself, a small smile on his face as he stared at his old enemy.

Almost sixteen years after the first spell was thrown in their long conflict, the final battle between the two adversaries had begun.

* * *

  
As they apparated on the outskirts of the Hogwarts grounds, Remus once again found himself wishing that they’d managed to capture Pettigrew that fateful day in the Shrieking Shack all those years ago; not only would Sirius most likely have been cleared long before now- Hell, he might even have still been _alive_ if he’d not been so frustrated at needing to stay locked up for almost a year- but Remus would also have the comfort of knowing that he might be able to offer his allies some alternative routes into the school that the Death Eaters _wouldn’t_ have known about.

There were definitely times when Pettigrew’s treachery could be frustrating for far more reasons than just the fact that his actions had resulted in Remus losing James and Lily for good and Sirius for twelve years all in one night…

But, right now, as Remus glanced over anxiously at his current allies- Tonks, Hagrid, Shacklebolt, Moody, and Arthur, all with their wands drawn and looking anxiously ahead of themselves- he couldn’t stop himself feeling somewhat proud of their resolve against such seemingly impossible odds.

Here they were, a mere six, preparing to attack Hogwarts itself and take on a mass of Death Eaters, simply to try and rescue four young adults from the most feared dark wizard for almost three hundred years.

Admittedly, some of their other members _were_ attempting to contact the official aurors at the Ministry of Magic to get some extra assistance, but for the moment, at least, it was still going to just be them against the Death Eaters, with no guarantee that the people they were trying to rescue were even still _alive_ …

_Well_ , Remus mused to himself as he stared at the castle before him, _if I’d wanted an easy life, I would have just had myself killed a long time ago and escaped the pressures put on me by my lycanthropy_.

“Right then,” Shacklebolt muttered, looking in a focused manner back at the others; as the most senior auror in their current ‘attack force’ (Moody being officially retired), he’d been unofficially appointed the leader of their little group. “We’ll have to take this at three different angles if we’re going to get into this place; the more angles we use, the more chance we have of escaping detection. Since we don’t know what secret passages the Death Eaters might know about, our best chance would be to cover some of the lesser entrances to the school itself- probably covering three entrances in groups of two- and try and take out any guards there before they can send a signal to the others. Our main objective is to find the children and get them out of there, but if we have the opportunity to take any prisoners, so long as we’re _sure_ we can get them out of there, we take it, OK?”

“Seems sensible,” Moody said, nodding briefly at Shacklebolt before he looked back at the castle. “I’ll go with Rubeus and take the Quidditch entrance; Kingsley, you’d better stick with Tonks and try for the greenhouses; Remus can go with Arthur and see what he can do about the lakeside door. Agreed?”

“W-well… a voice commented from behind them, sounding like its owner was shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering together, “I _do_ have a-a-another idea to g-g-get you in, i-if you’re i-interested…”

Remus’s eyes widened in rage.

“ _Wormtail_!” he roared, spinning around towards the voice just in time to walk directly through his gathered allies and grab the traitor by the collar, hauling him up into the air as he aimed his wand at the rat animagus; he barely even stopped to think about how Wormtail had come this close without any of them noticing, although it was most likely that he’d used his rat form. “You filthy _traitor_ -!”

“W- _wait_!” Wormtail protested weakly, sounding like he was almost choking as he looked down at his old friend. “I didn’t… c-come here… to f- _fight_! I c-came here… to try… and _help_ you…”

“ _You_?” Arthur’s voice said from behind Remus; out of the corner of his eye, the werewolf noted that his allies were also pointing their wands at the small wizard he held up in one hand, although none of them were casting any spells at the moment. “You want to _help_ us? After you spent twelve years hiding among my _family_ because you were _afraid_ \- hell, after you _gave your master back his body_ \- now you say you want to _help_ us?”

“Y-yes…” Wormtail whispered, looking anxiously over at the man whose family had taken him in when they thought he was only a rat. “P-please… I set Harry free… he’s fighting Voldemort… the others are t-t-trying to get out of the c-c-castle… but Harry c-can’t do it _alone_ … he needs help… the _others_ need help… they’re t-t-taking a back way out that s- _should_ be safe… b-but you _have_ to g-get them o-out…”

“Give us one good reason _why_ we should trust you?” Shacklebolt asked, aiming his wand at the centre of Wormtail’s face. Staring back at the man at the other end of the wand, Wormtail swallowed anxiously- to his credit, he was still managing not to complain about the evident lack of comfort in being held up by his robes- and finally spoke.

“B-because if I’d d-done nothing, you’d be n-no worse off th-than if you t-t-take m-my advice,” he said, fear blazing through his eyes like a _lumos_ spell as he turned to look at Remus. “And b-because… I owe H-Harry my l-life.”

Remus’s eyes widened momentarily at that comment, but he quickly got himself under control as he continued to glare at his friend, turning over what he’d just heard as the rest of the group stared silently at him, waiting for him to decide whether they should believe a man who’d betrayed their side already.

If it had been anybody else in Wormtail’s position, Remus would have been perfectly happy to lock them up until they could get some veritaserum to determine how honest they were being about everything.

But, even after everything he’d done to them, Remus Lupin still knew Peter Pettigrew better than anybody else alive, and knew very well that Wormtail couldn’t lie to save his life; his pitiful attempts to do in the Shrieking Shack had been proof enough of that, if nothing else.

Oh, the rat Animagus had successfully kept the fact that _he_ was the traitor in the Order of the Phoenix secret from everybody else, but that was more of an omission than an actual _lie_ ; if someone had actually _said_ to him “Are you spying on us for Voldemort?” he wouldn’t have been able to keep the truth secret for longer than a few seconds.

Right now, everything he could see of Wormtail made it clear to Remus that Wormtail _wasn’t_ lying to them about what was apparently happening inside; Harry _was_ fighting Voldemort while the others tried to escape, and Wormtail genuinely _wanted_ them to get out.

Lowering the traitorous former Marauder back onto the ground, Remus stepped back to look at his old friend, his wand still raised in case the rat animagus should try to transform.

“Just remember this,” he said simply, as he stared coldly at the rat animagus. “If you’ve betrayed us this time around, I will not rest until I have caught you, trapped you in your rat form, and locked you up in a secure room… with me… on the night of the full moon… when I have _not_ taken my potion. Are we clear?”

Wormtail nodded shakily as he looked back at the werewolf.

“Good,” Tonks said, stepping forward to haul the small wizard back up onto his feet. “Lead on, little man; just remember that, if things go pear-shaped, you’re the first one who’s going to end up dead. Clear?”

“Y-yes,” Wormtail said, nodding briefly before turning back to look at the school before them. “C-c-come on; there’s still _one_ p-p-passage that none of t-th-them know a-a-about; we can get into the s-s-school from th-th-there.”

“Which one is it?” Remus asked, looking critically at Wormtail as the seven of them started walking. Hagrid, as the most magic-resistant of the group, took the lead, with Wormtail and Remus just behind him.

“Oh, it’s th-th-that one leading to the p-p-p-painting of ‘The Wedding Night’,” Wormtail replied, looking back at his old schoolfriend with a small smile. “Re-re-remember it, R-Remus?”

Despite the dangerous situation they were currently in, Remus chuckled slightly at the memory of that passage; the painting in question was kept in one of the lower dungeons, and none of the Marauders had ever been sure why it was even _allowed_ in a school, but they’d all found the content _highly_ amusing once they’d reached their teens and had a better idea of what they were looking at.

How _anyone_ managed to get the subjects to pose for a painting like _that_ \- or, indeed, who the subjects were- was one of the minor mysteries about Hogwarts that kept Remus wondering to this day…

And, for a moment- only a moment, but the thought was there nevertheless- Remus found himself remembering the way things had been back when he’d just thought of Peter Pettigrew as his friend, rather than as a traitor.

_Who knows_? Remus mused to himself, as they walked further into the Hogwarts grounds. _Maybe once this is over and he’s in jail, I might start to think about paying him a visit_ …

His actions here didn’t _totally_ make up for betraying Lily and James all those years ago, but it was a step in the right direction at least.

* * *

  
Throughout his life, Harry had never used hand-to-hand combat in a fight against any of his enemies. When it came to Dudley and his gang (Assuming they could actually be _called_ enemies, given that they just picked on him rather than actually trying to kill him), he’d tended just to try and stay out of their way so that he wouldn’t get in trouble for accidentally hurting ‘Dudders’. As for after he’d joined the wizarding world, all his fights had been against opponents armed with wands, and, since they’d never _allowed_ him to get close enough to attack them physically, he’d never had the opportunity to do so against them either.

Then, of course, he’d acquired the Mask, and, having used it to transform himself into some people who practically made a _living_ out of entering hand-to-hand combat- Link, Archangel, Batman, and (Technically) Aladdin, among others- he’d acquired some relatively useful tricks. The combat strategies that remained in his subconscious were mostly instinctive rather than anything he could actually think about on a _conscious_ level, but it was still enough of an edge for him to do some damage.

Added to all the practice he’d got of _dodging_ punches and other physical attacks during his time with the Dursleys, and Harry felt that it was safe to say that he was _far_ more capable at holding his own in a fist-fight than Voldemort was.

If nothing else, from what he recalled of the memories Dumbledore had shown him, even _before_ Voldemort knew of magic, he’d never actually gone head-to-head with his ‘targets’, preferring to use various elaborate traps and schemes rather than actually attacking them with his bare hands. The guy was fast on his feet, true, but he was still clearly used to the long-distance warning he would have received of an attack in a wizarding duel, so he wasn’t _quite_ able to react to a punch fast enough.

Of course, that didn’t mean he was a pushover; Harry was hardly a professional fighter himself, and, as he knew from experience, even _total_ amateurs can sometimes get lucky in a struggle. After Harry had managed to land a couple of blows on his opponent, Voldemort swiftly began to retaliate, launching a couple of rapid punches that caught Harry in the chest, leaving him momentarily winded.

“You _dare_ to fight _me_ , _POTTER_?!” Voldemort roared, launching a surprising powerful uppercut at his opponent that sent Harry staggering backwards, clutching a bleeding lip. “I have vanquished some of the most powerful witches and wizards alive… I have conquered Hogwarts… I have conquered _death itself_! You honestly believed that _YOU_ could defeat _ME_?”

Staring back at Voldemort, Harry glared at the man who’d ruined his life, and spat a fleck of blood onto his face before following it up with a powerful blow to the older man’s left eye.

“You talk too much, _asshole_ ,” he growled at his foe. Voldemort barely even had time to yell in outrage at that- quite frankly, the man was _ridiculously_ repetitive at times- before Harry launched a quick kick at Voldemort’s chest that struck the man just under the ribs.

“And to answer your question,” Harry continued, as Voldemort clutched his chest, desperately gasping for the air that had just been forced out of his lungs, “I _do_ think I can defeat you.”

Before Voldemort could regain his breath and even _begin_ to think about fighting back once more, Harry lashed out with a renewed assault of punches and kicks.

“ _That_ was for Dumbledore!” he yelled, as he struck Voldemort’s shoulder with a rapid kick.

“ _That_ was for Sirius!” he added, driving a fist into Voldemort’s chest and leaving his foe to need to start regaining his hard-won air all over again.

“ _That_ was for Cedric!” he continued, striking Voldemort’s nose with the palm of his hand; if it hadn’t been for the fact that Voldemort’s nose resembled a snake’s rather than a human’s, Harry had no doubt he would have broken a bone or two in his opponent’s face.

“And _this_ is for _ME_!” he roared, as he lashed out with another kick to the chest that sent Voldemort flying backwards, a silent scream ripping from the Dark Lord’s mouth as he hurtled towards the wall.

It was only _after_ Voldemort struck the wall behind him- somehow adjusting his involuntary flight so that the wall only bruised his back rather than breaking his neck- that Harry realised the slight mistake he’d made in attempting that particular manoeuvre. He’d been so focused on attacking Voldemort that he’d forgotten to remember where Voldemort’s wand in case the sucker tried to go for it once more…

And, in a moment of complete _idiocy_ , he’d kicked the sucker practically _right_ towards where the wand was currently lying on the floor of the hall.

Harry barely even paused to think; the moment he saw Voldemort’s fingers close on the wand, he dived off to the side as his foe brought the wand up to aim at him, sighing briefly in relief as the non-verbal spell his opponent cast missed him.

As he heard a loud crash from behind him that was vaguely reminiscent of a car crashing into a brick wall, Harry winced as he desperately rolled back onto his feet, glancing back to see a shockingly large hole in the stone wall of the castle; it looked like Voldemort had tried to case a Reductor curse at full power and had ended up punching right _through_ the wall.

It was official; he was _really_ glad that he hadn’t let that thing hit him…

Right now, as Voldemort began to launch a barrage of spells that Harry didn’t dare try to counteract- the ‘Prior Incanteum’ thing wouldn’t really do him much good right now, since both he _and_ Voldemort knew how to break it- the Gryffindor quidditch captain was wishing he’d kept a hold on the Mask, which was currently on the opposite side of the hall from him.

_OK then_ , Harry mused, as Voldemort got to his feet and continued to fire rapid spells at him. _Got to get enough distance between us that I can take him down long enough to get over there_ without _being turned into a human doughnut…_

_Damn, this is_ not _going to be easy._

It was official; life _sucked_ when he was trying to go it alone.

* * *

  
After nearly ten minutes of continuous movement, Ginny was no longer entirely sure where they’d even _started_ from, never mind where they were going. She knew that there were _other_ exists to the castle beyond the main doors, but, right now, she could _not_ remember where anything was…

“ _Ginny_ …” Hermione hissed from behind her, as the younger girl tried to pick which route she should take as they approached a fork in the passageway. “Can we just get _moving_ ; this is _not_ the time to be sticking around, you know!”

“You think I don’t _know_ that, Hermione?” Ginny retorted, turning around to glare at the older girl as she halted in front of the passageway. “I’m _trying_ here, but it’s not easy! You know, there are times when that bloody map of Harry’s would _really_ come in handy…”

“Well, we don’t _have_ it, so we’ll just have to make do!” Ron interjected, looking critically over at the two girls before turning his attention back to the corridor before him. “Look, we’ve got that portrait of Agrippa and the Sneakoscope over there, so that means we’re… we’re… just a couple of levels away from the main hall, right?”

Ginny began to nod in agreement- she’d been so caught up in not having found a way out yet that she’d completely forgotten to look for the little details like that- when she heard something off to one side that made her blood run cold.

A loud explosion, coming from just a bit downwards and to their right, that sounded like it practically punched through a _wall_.

There was only one reason _anybody_ in this building would be blowing holes in the wall, and Ginny didn’t want to imagine what could have happened to cause something like _that_.

“ _Harry_!” she yelled in horror.

She didn’t know _how_ she could know so certainly that it was Harry who was in trouble; after all, with the Mask, he might have been able to make an explosion like that…

But she wasn’t mistaken; she _knew_ it.

Which meant that she only had one choice to make right now, no matter what her brother or her friend thought of it.

The youngest Weasley didn’t even stop to think; before Ron or Hermione could even _try_ to talk her out of it, Ginny had turned in the direction that the crash had come from and began to run along the corridor, praying that she’d come to a staircase sooner rather than later. She vaguely heard Ron and Hermione trying to call after her, but she didn’t pay any attention as she found a flight of stairs going downwards at long last.

If Harry needed her, she was _going_ to help him.


	23. Recuperation and Retaliation

As Harry desperately ducked and weaved around the spells Voldemort was launching in his direction, he mentally cursed himself for never bothering to get a decent holster for his wand. Keeping it up his sleeve may keep it safe at the moment- the thing wasn’t showing any _signs_ of falling out at the moment, at least- but it wasn’t that easy to just draw it at a moment’s notice. He needed a few seconds’ breathing space to ensure he wouldn’t just drop it when he tried to get it into his hand, and right now he barely even had a _couple_ of seconds of breathing space, never mind the time he’d need to draw his wand and try to use it.

_There’s got to be_ something _I can do with what I’ve got_! Harry groaned to himself, as he ducked a spell that looked worryingly like the Cruciatus Curse; if he got hit with that, he’d be in _serious_ trouble. _Maybe a chair, or a bit of rubble, or… or_ something…?

Unfortunately, the curse that had destroyed the wall had blown any possible debris outwards, leaving no likely weapons for Harry from _that_ quarter, and the Death Eaters had already cleared away most of the chairs and tables in the Great Hall (The better for them to stand around gazing pathetically at Voldemort, he supposed).

In other words, there was nothing he could use against his opponent at the moment.

_Come on… come on_ … Harry mused to himself desperately, as he narrowly avoided another spell, rolling widely over to the side. _There’s got to be a way around this… I’ve always managed to get away from Voldemort… there’s_ got _to be some way of stopping him now_ …

“ _Crucio_!” Voldemort yelled, and Harry suddenly found himself writhing in agony, suddenly sent flying backwards into the wall as the powerful curse struck him. Even amid the pain, he vaguely registered that Voldemort’s seemingly random spells had clearly been deliberately manoeuvring him to this point, as he was currently practically trapped in a corner of the Hall with nowhere for him to dodge even _if_ he’d been able to ignore the agony that had just taken hold of his body…

Then, suddenly, the pain ended, and Harry collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air as he stared shakily up at a smirking Voldemort.

“Game over,” the Dark Lord stated, smirking grimly as he stared at the young wizard before him. “It would appear, Harry, that I _am_ capable of defeating you without the Mask; even at peak health, you simply _cannot_ summon the resolve- or the power, of course- necessary to defeat me.”

“Really…?” Harry retorted weakly, as he stared up at Voldemort with what he hoped was a confident smirk; maybe if the bastard saw that he didn’t _look_ afraid, he might start worrying more about what Harry was up to.

As plans went, Harry would be the first to acknowledge that what he was trying to do was a terrible plan- hell, it barely even deserved to be _called_ a ‘plan’- but, if it stopped Voldemort from just killing him outright at the moment, it would have to do.

“Y’know…” he continued, as he stared fixedly at Voldemort, his breathing slow and laboured as he tried to fight off the remains of the pain he’d just suffered at Voldemort’s hands. “I may not be as _powerful_ as you… I may not have as many _followers_ as you… and I may not even know as much _magic_ as you do… but there’s _one_ thing I’ve got that you could _never_ hope to understand…”

“Which is?” Voldemort retorted, looking casually back at Harry, lowering his wand slightly as he did so; evidently, he felt confident enough to relax slightly, but his wand was still clearly high enough that he could cast an effective spell on Harry before the young wizard could even begin to launch a new attack.

“Friends,” Harry stated grimly as he glared at his long-time foe. “You may have an absolute _ton_ of people… waiting to do what you tell them at a moment’s notice… but I’ve got people who’d help me… no matter _what_ crazy plan I’ve concocted… just because I’m their friend.”

Voldemort laughed once, a harsh laugh that made it all too obvious what he thought of Harry’s statement.

“And you honestly think _that_ is enough to stop _me_?” he asked, staring at Harry as though the young wizard had just told him that the sky was green. “Your _friends_ are nowhere to be seen, you are currently _totally_ alone in trying to fight me, and as for your belief that such a thing makes you _better_ than me?”

He snorted scathingly. “ _Please_ ; you haven’t got a _single_ hope of defeating me, and we _both_ know it.”

Raising his wand once more, Voldemort stared casually at the weakened Harry, both knowing that Harry could never react fast enough to Voldemort’s attack to hit his foe with a spell before Voldemort could cast his own to intercept it.

“Goodbye, Harry Potter,” the man formerly known as Tom Riddle stated, a wide grin on his face. “I’d like to say you were a ‘worthy adversary’ and all that, but the truth is… I just hated you from the moment I learned you were ‘destined’ to be the only person capable of killing me.”

Aiming the wand directly at Harry’s head, Voldemort opened his mouth to speak the two words that would end the battle once and for all…

“ _Cnidocy_!” a voice yelled from off to the side, causing Voldemort to suddenly drop his wand and clutch at his side; clearly, whoever had just cast that Stinging Hex had put a _significant_ amount of power behind it.

“ _Harry_!” the same voice yelled, as Harry heard the faint sound of something being picked up off the floor. “ _Catch_!”

_GINNY_?! Harry thought incredulously, as he spun around to look in the direction that the yell had just come from; he’d been focused on Voldemort earlier and hadn’t been paying full attention to who’d just spoken. _What the_ Hell _is she_ -

Then he saw the Mask come hurtling towards him, and he smiled slightly in relief as he raised his hand to catch the wooden artefact as it hurtled towards him.

At least  
 _now_ the odds were a bit more even.

As Voldemort turned to look back at Harry, a shocked expression on his face as he took in the artefact that Harry now held in his hand, the young wizard grinned as he stared at his foe.

“Time to put the boot on the other foot,” he said simply.

Even as Voldemort raised his wand to fire a final curse at Harry, the wooden artefact had already been placed on his face, the now-familiar whirl of green energy surrounded the young wizard…

* * *

  
And then, dressed in his usual blue-checked shirt, dark jeans, and long black leather coat, Mark Tiller stood nonchalantly before the Dark Lord, smiling over at Ginny as he gave her a brief thumbs-up.

“Thank _you_ , my dear Miss Weasley!” he said, grinned casually over at the young redhead before his face hardened as he turned to look back at his foe. “Now then, _Tom_ … shall we try this again?”

Before Voldemort could cast a spell, Mark was standing right in front of his foe, grabbed the man who’d ruined his life by the collar, and launched a rapid series of punches at the man’s snake-like face. Grinning broadly as the former Riddle stared in shock and confusion at Mark- evidently, he couldn’t believe that Mark was still using his _fists_ as opposed to _magic_ in a fight- Mark thrust Voldemort back into a nearby wall before glancing over at Ginny.

“Get _out_ of here, Ginny!” he yelled, waving one hand at the door. “I can handle him, but I can’t _do_ anything about it if I’ve got you to worry about as well!”

For a moment, Ginny looked as though she was about to protest at Mark’s apparently ‘condescending’ attitude towards her, but she stopped herself before she could start, evidently acknowledging that he made a good point.

As the prophecy had stated all those years ago, this battle was just for the two men before her, and she could do nothing more right than here make Harry didn’t have to worry about anybody else as he fought his long-time enemy.

“Good luck,” she said briefly, before she turned around and ran back towards the main doors, leaving Mark to stare nonchalantly at Voldemort as he slowly got back onto his feet.

“Now then, my _friend_ ,” he stated grimly, flexing his fingers as though he were a concert pianist preparing to make a grand performance, “let’s _do_ this thing, shall we?”

* * *

  
“Oh, come _on_!” Ron groaned, as he rounded another corner only to see a dead end that clearly did _not_ lead to the way out of the castle; having lost track of Ginny after a staircase moved, he and Hermione had decided to just get out and look for help, but so far they weren’t having any luck. “We’ve been here for six _years_ , and we can’t find the way out _now_?”

“Well, the shifting staircases we’ve encountered so far may have contributed to _that_ little problem, in case you don’t remember it,” Hermione growled impatiently, as the young men she was already starting to think of as her ‘boyfriend’ hurried along through the corridor. “I mean, we _are_ under no small amount of stress, in case you hadn’t noticed; you have to take into account that it _will_ result in us making mistakes…”

“No, a _mistake_ is when you get the wrong answer to a question,” Ron retorted, glaring in frustration at his old friend. “ _This_ is a complete and total _screw-up_!”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” a voice said from behind them. “I would have thought you’d have learned by now that trying to fight our power is pointless.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror.

She and Ron both knew that voice all too well.

The last time they’d heard it, the man was about to execute an innocent hippogriff just because Lucius Malfoy wanted to make a big deal about the fact that his son was injured in an easily avoidable accident.

“ _Macnair_?” Ron yelled in horror as he spun around to look at the former Ministry executioner, his familiar large axe in his hands as he smirked casually at the two young wizards before him.

“Exactly,” Macnair stated, a broad grin on his face as they tried to pull out their wands, only for him to suddenly thrust out with his axe, nearly striking Ron on the arm, before pulling back. “Now then, seeing as how we’re all old ‘acquaintances’, maybe we can all avoid some… unpleasantness… by having you both return to your cell and tell me where your ‘friends’-”

“ _Stupefy_!” somebody yelled out behind the Death Eater. Instantly, Macnair collapsed to the ground, leaving his three attackers standing behind him. Two of them, neither Ron or Hermione were surprised to see, were Lupin and Tonks, Tonks being the one who had apparently cast the stunning spell.

It was the presence of the _third_ figure that surprised the two young wizards, having expected him to get out of the school as rapidly as possible after getting them out of their cell.

“Wormtail?” Ron said, looking in confusion between the two former Marauders. “What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

“He showed us a way in that the Death Eaters didn’t know about,” Remus explained, shrugging slightly as he looked back at his old friend, a still-cold expression on his face as he stared at the man who’d betrayed another friend. “Tonks and I volunteered to keep an eye on him until we got out of this place, while the others went to see what they could do about rounding up the Death Eaters. Hagrid and Shacklebolt are making sure that nobody gets out of the school before our reinforcements arrive while Moody and Arthur are helping us round up anybody still inside; we’ve agreed to rendezvous with each other in the main hall in about half an hour.”

“That… seems like a sensible enough strategy,” Hermione said, nodding in approval even as she continued to look somewhat suspiciously at Wormtail- not that she was alone; _everybody_ was looking suspiciously at the man who’d spent twelve years known as ‘Scabbers’- before turning her attention to Macnair’s unconscious body. “What do we do with him?”

“Just leave him,” Tonks said, shrugging dismissively. “That was a pretty powerful stunner I hit him with; if the back-up we requested comes in time, he’ll still be out of it by the time they show up.”

“And what if he’s discovered?” Ron pointed out, looking almost critically at Tonks. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to tie him up to make sure?”

“No point, really,” the metamorphagus explained, shaking her head as she looked at the body before her, apparently not even registering the slightly disappointed expression on Ron’s face that his idea wouldn’t work. “If he’s discovered, it’d be relatively easy to wake him up with a simple ‘Ennervate’, just like they could cancel out anything I used to tie him up; taking him with us would slow us down too much, so we should just leave him here and get moving.”

“As good a plan as any,” Lupin said, nodding in approval at the younger woman and metamorphagus before looking back at Ron and Hermione, a suddenly puzzled expression on his face as something seemed to occur to him. “Wasn’t Ginny with you?”

“Ah,” Ron swallowed, as he and Hermione looked awkwardly at each other. “Well, we _were_ together… but… she… kinda… ran off?”

“What?” Tonks said, looking in shock at the youngest male Weasley. “What do you _mean_ , she ‘ran off’?”

As Ron glanced up at the ceiling above him, Hermione was left with the distinct impression that, right now, Ron was beseeching whatever gods might be taking an interest in the use of the Mask in this fight to give him a lucky break soon even as he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere.

* * *

  
As Ginny tore out of the Great Hall, she barely had time to process how the situation might be developing behind her. She vaguely heard Mark saying something to Voldemort as she departed, before she grabbed the doors and began to pull them closed, but that was the extent of her knowledge. Even as she looked into the hall in those brief moments before the doors closed, all she could see was Mark facing Voldemort as the other man got to his feet, clearly prepared to fight each other to the end for this battle.

 _This is it…_ Ginny mused to herself, as she pulled the doors closed before her, grateful beyond words that the things were charmed so that they could respond to even the slightest bit of contact intended to open or close them. _The final showdown… where their wizarding lives first began… and where the lives of at least_ one _of them will end_ …

It seemed somehow… appropriate, really.

Then, much to her shock, Ginny felt something collide with her right side, just as she was stepping back from the doors, and sending her tumbling to the ground in a heap, a new arrival pinning her to the floor.

“So, Miss Weasley,” a familiar, persistently sarcastic voice said into her right ear, “how does it feel to _know_ that you’re going to lose this one?”

Ginny blinked incredulously.

Of all the voices she’d expected to hear from her attacker, this guy had _not_ been one of them.

“ _Malfoy_?” she asked, turning her head to stare incredulously at the young man who was now trying to hold her down, unable to stop a brief smile crossing her face. “You _actually_ think that _you_ can make a difference at _this_ point in the fight?”

“All it takes is _one_ right-minded individual to make an impact on the struggle, Miss Weasley!” Malfoy retorted, glaring at her with a wide smirk as he raised one hand to finger the buttons on Ginny’s blouse, a grin on his face that was presumably _meant_ to be seductive but only made him look like a shark wishing you were in his stomach already. “And right now, my dear Miss Weasley, that ‘right-minded individual’… is _me_.”

Ginny couldn’t help herself; she literally _snorted_ in amusement at that statement.

“I’m sorry; you _honestly_ think that you can make _any_ kind of impact on this fight?” she asked, staring scathingly at the young man who was currently straddling her; even her slight fear of what he was going to do with those buttons in his hands couldn’t take away her incredulity at his earlier statement. “You’re a completely _pointless_ piece of _crap_ , you haven’t done _anything_ of _any_ significance in this whole _stupid_ war since it began- Hell, you had a _perfect_ chance to stop Dumbledore and you _totally_ failed to take it- and now you think that you can actually do _anything_ useful in this fight?”

Before Malfoy could even begin to reply, Ginny had taken advantage of his position directly above her to move one leg and ram it upwards between Malfoy’s legs, grinning broadly as he screamed in pain before rolling off to the side, allowing Ginny to get back to her feet.

It wasn’t a _perfect_ opportunity for her to show what she could do in a fight, but at least she wouldn’t be doing _nothing_ to help Harry in the final battle.

“You want to make some kind of impact in this whole mess?” Ginny asked, glaring scornfully at Malfoy as he slowly staggered to his feet, gingerly clutching at the clearly still-painful area between his legs. “Try and get past me to help your ‘boss’… if you can.”


	24. Mark VS Voldemort: The Final Round

“ _Hypocrite_!” Voldemort yelled at Mark as he stood up, glaring angrily at the green-headed man before him.

“Pardon?” Mark asked, tilting his head inquiringly to one side as he looked at his foe. “Tell me, how does _that_ description make sense in this situation; when have I _ever_ pretended to be something I’m not?”

“You accuse _me_ of being a coward for depending on the Mask, and then _you_ use it?” Voldemort yelled, gesturing wildly at his opponent. “I would certainly call _that_ a hypocritical attitude!”

“See, _that’s_ where you’re wrong, for the simple reason that I’m not as arrogant as you are,” Mark answered, clicking his tongue briefly as he looked casually at his long-time foe. “ _You_ couldn’t stand the idea that you might not be powerful enough to handle something on your _own_ , so, at the first _hint_ of the idea that you might not have been able to kill me without the Mask ‘backing you up’, you discarded it and resolved to beat me up without it. Me?”

Mark shrugged slightly as he looked at his foe. “I’m _perfectly_ prepared to accept that I might not be tough enough to tackle the problem using only my natural abilities. Using this thing doesn’t make _me_ a hypocrite; it just means that I acknowledge my limitations and try to cope with them.”

Before Voldemort could do anything else, Mark had lashed out once again at his foe, this time with a powerful kick to the head that sent his foe flying off to the side. As Voldemort desperately scrambled back to his feet, Mark hurried over towards his opponent and lashed with another rapid punch to the face. In desperation, Voldemort raised his fist to launch a punch that was clearly amateur at best, but Mark nonchalantly caught his wrist and launched another blow, sending Voldemort flying towards the hole in the wall he’d created earlier.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, are you prepared to give up _without_ a fight?” Mark asked, casually dusting his hands as he walked towards the dazed form of his parents’ murderer. “You may like to _say_ that we’ve got a lot of things in common, but if there’s a way I can end this _without_ people ending up dead, I’m willing to take it.”

“NEVER!” Voldemort roared, as he pulled out his wand and cast a wordless curse at Mark; juding by the twinges of pain Mark felt through his arms and legs, he assumed that Voldemort had attempted the Cruciatus Curse, but hadn’t the power to really do anything to him.

“DIE!” Voldemort roared, as he launched another wordless curse that sent Mark flying backwards. “DIE!” he yelled again, as another curse sent Mark staggering away from him once more. “DIE!” he continued, forcing Mark even further from his opponent. “WHY WON’T YOU JUST _DIE_?!”

“Because…” Mark growled, as he lunged back towards his opponent, grabbing Voldemort’s right wrist and yanking it up as he glared contemptuously at his long-time foe, “the moment I die, you’ve won, and my mother’s sacrifice was for nothing.”

His eyes narrowed as he grabbed Voldemort’s throat with his other hand, hauling the Dark Lord into the air as he stared at him.

“And I will _never_ give you that satisfaction!” Mark roared, releasing Voldemort’s wrist to launch another punch; if Voldemort had still possessed a human nose, Mark would have broken it.

Mark had just drawn back his fist to launch another punch- he was surprised to find that he actually enjoyed the simplicity of just _hitting_ the bad guy for once- when he suddenly felt something strike him in the chest with a force that nearly rivalled a freight train in its intensity. Even as Mark vaguely registered that Voldemort must have hit him with a Banishing Charm of some kind- evidently wandless magic was one of his many skills right now- his feet had left the ground and he found himself hurtling back through the hole in the wall behind him.

_Ah, crap_ , Mark muttered to himself as he began to fall. _This is_ not _going to go well_ …

_On the other hand_ , he mused, as he reflexively extended one arm like a piece of elastic to grab the front of Voldemort’s robe, _if_ I’m _going to fall from a great height, this guy is_ definitely _coming down with me_.

OK, so he could probably fly up before he hit anything dangerous, but where was the fun in _that_?

Besides… right now, after everything Voldemort had done to so many people over the course of his long reign of terror, he wanted to see Voldemort _squirm_ before this little conflict between them was ended once and for all.

* * *

  
“Come _on_!” Lupin yelled back at his friends and former pupils over his shoulder as their small group hurried along the corridors towards the main hall. “We _have_ to get Ginny out of here before the Death Eaters realise what’s happening!”“I still can’t believe you _let_ her run off like that!” Tonks added, looking critically over at Ron and Hermione. “We’ve got enough problems as it _is_ , and you _let_ the woman who may be the most valuable hostage the Death Eaters could _want_ if they’re dealing with Harry _run away_!”

“J-j-just l-like L-L-Lily, huh, R-R-Remus?” Wormtail put in from off to the side, smiling over slightly at his old friend. “S-she could n-n-never really be t-t- _told_ wh-wh-what to d-d-do….”

Despite his own anger at what Wormtail had done to them in the past- to say nothing of his own remaining uncertainty about the rat animagus’s motives in the _present_ -, once again, Lupin couldn’t help but smile slightly at the memories his words invoked. It was certainly true that Lily was never one to just be _told_ what to do by anybody; the other Marauders had often suspected that James had initially been attracted to Lily mainly because of her seemingly ‘unattainable’ status, making her far more of a challenge than any girl James had dated prior to that point in his life.

Then, as they rounded another corner, leading them into one of the larger corridors that connected up to the main hall, Lupin was forced to dive rapidly backwards as somebody attempted to launch a powerful curse in his direction.

“Get back!” he yelled at the others, as he pulled out his wand and rapidly pressed himself up against the wall, followed by the others.

“Ah, it’s the werewolf!” a voice yelled from around the corner, prompting shocked looks on the faces of all of the small ‘strike force’ as they looked at each other; they all knew that voice particularly well, after all that its owner had done to continue her demented obsession with serving Voldemort and furthering his genocidal agenda…

“ _Lestrange_?” Hermione hissed in shock as she looked up at Lupin. “You’re telling me that _whackjob_ hasn’t been captured yet?”

“Unfortunately, just because she’s totally insane doesn’t mean she isn’t intelligent,” Lupin growled, sounding almost unnervingly like the wolf he became for three nights of every month as he looked at the others. “I didn’t have the time to get an exact look at the numbers we’re dealing with, but what I saw suggested that there’s about a dozen Death Eaters in this corridor, all of them ready and willing to kill _anybody_ who goes out there…”

“ _Great_ ,” Hermione groaned, as she slumped against one wall; she vaguely registered Lestrange yelling to them- something about surrendering and receiving a less painful death- but she wasn’t interested in taking any offer that psycho had to give them. “What _else_ could go wrong? We’re trapped by a bunch of Death Eaters, we can’t get past them without being hit by whatever curse they come up with, they’ll probably just _follow_ us if we try to go _back_ , and we’re outnumbered about two-to-one with no idea whether we’d even manage to get off a spell if we _tried_ to attack! We’re _definitely_ in trouble right now!”

“W-well…” Wormtail said, raising his silver hand as he looked uncertainly at the others, “I d- _do_ have an idea that m-might h-h-help us get p-p-past them…”

“ _You_?” Ron said, looking incredulously over at Wormtail. “You’ve got to be joking; _you’ve_ got an idea that’ll get us out of _this_ mess?”

Wormtail chuckled slightly.

“W-well, you d-don’t stay a Marauder unless y-y-you can c-c-come up with _some_ d-d-decent p-p-pranks; th-this is just a more l-l-lethal one,” he said, shooting a brief, nervous grin over at Lupin as he spoke. “Remus… c-c-can you put out the torch that’s on the w-w-wall over there?”

“What; the one on the other side of the corridor?” Lupin said, looking over at the torch in confusion before looking back at his old friend. “What will _that_ accomplish; there’s still more torches down towards them! We can’t just jump out at them when it gets dark-”

“But _I_ can sneak past them in my rat form…” Wormtail replied, as he indicated the floor below them. “They w-w-won’t think to l-look for a r-r- _rat_ , w-will they? I c-can s-s-sneak p-p-past them, cause a d-d-distraction, and t-t-then…”

He shrugged slightly as he indicated the rest of the team. “Well, it’s a-a-all up to y-you then, really.”

“And how can we be sure you won’t just go back over to _their_ side as soon as you get there?” Tonks asked, jerking her head towards the Death Eaters.

“Because they’d kill him for letting us out of our cells as soon as they realise he’s the only one who could have done it,” Ron stated grimly as he looked back over at Tonks. “Pettigrew here knows that he’ll just get away with being sent to prison if he keeps helping us; he tries to side with the Death Eaters again, he’ll _definitely_ end up dead.”

Lupin nodded in agreement as he looked back at the last other surviving marauder, a harsh glare in his eyes.

“Just remember one thing,” he told the rat animagus before him. “If you _do_ try and side with the Death Eaters, I shall ensure that, when I die trying to fight these Death Eaters, I shall devote all my energies to making sure _you’re_ the one I kill first. Clear?”

Wormtail could only nod.

“Good,” Lupin said grimly. Turning to look at the wall opposite him at a point just around the corner, he aimed his wand at the just-visible torch- if he went out any further, he would run the risk of being attacked by the Death Eaters himself- before yelling out “ _Aguamenti_!”

As soon as the brief light from his wand leapt out of the tip to extinguish the fire before him, Wormtail’s body had shrunk into its rat form and he was scurrying around the corner, the thin pink tail that had given him his name vanishing around the stone corridor as he headed for the Death Eaters. For a moment, there was only silence as the small team held their breath and waited for something to happen, and then they heard brief thump, as though somebody had hit the floor, followed by yells of rage and the sounds of a struggle.

“GO!” Lupin yelled, the four of them almost instantaneously spinning around the corner to launch a series of rapid stunning hexes at their opponents, acting in an almost unspoken agreement; if they hit Wormtail by accident, it would at least be relatively easy to revive him from a simple stunner. In a matter of minutes, around eight of the twelve Death Eaters who had been there originally were lying stunned on the ground, with three of the others clutching injured arms or legs after getting close enough for their opponents to hit them with a more damaging curse.

Unfortunately, the one remaining unharmed Death Eater standing before them was Bellatrix Lestrange, who was currently holding Wormtail as a shield, glaring at the others as she held a sharp dagger up against his neck in a manner that made it clear that she could easily slit his throat before he even tried to get away.

“So, you thought this _filthy traitor_ would serve as the ‘ace’ up your pathetic sleeve, werewolf?” Lestrange inquired, staring mockingly at Lupin as she studied the shaking form of Wormtail in her grasp. “An efficient little scheme, I grant you, but far from being anything _near_ good enough to defeat _us_!”

“Let him go, Bellatrix,” Lupin stated grimly as he aimed a wand at the woman before him. “You’re trapped; there’s no way out of this.”

“No?” Bellatrix asked, laughing slightly as she studied the werewolf before her. “On the contrary, my good little _dog_ , there _is_ a way out of here, and I’m holding it; either let me go, or I kill this… _thing_ I’m holding.”

“And what makes you think we even _care_ about him?” Ron interjected, glaring at Bellatrix as he tried to hold his wand steady while pointing it at the insane woman before them. “He’s the whole reason your bloody boss is walking about these days; why would we _want_ him to live?”

Bellatrix chuckled slightly at that as she continued to hold her knife up against Wormtail’s throat.

“Simple,” she said, a grin on her face that reminded Hermione unnervingly of Jack Nicholson’s portrayal of the Joker in the original _Batman_ movie. “You’re weak, pathetic, _light_ wizards who allow themselves to _care_ about the people who try to help you without really believing in anything but saving their own lives; I, on the other hand, _know_ that the only person you should really be concerned about in a battle (When the Dark Lord is not there, of course)… is yourself.”

As much as her opponents hated to concede the notion that Bellatrix could _ever_ make a valid point, they had to admit that she’d made one here; it may be regarded as a weakness, but their refusal to sacrifice random innocents (Even if the term wasn’t exactly accurate in Wormtail’s case) was the only thing separating them from their foes, and they refused to sacrifice it.

Right now, there was no way for them to take down Lestrange before she managed to kill

Then, before the four members of the Order of the Phoenix could even begin to lower their wands or come up with another plan, much to the surprise of all those present, Wormtail spoke.

“A-a-and y-y- _you_ made a b-b-b-basic mi-mi-mistake…” he said, his voice somehow simultaneously sounding terrified and confident.

“Really?” Bellatrix asked as she looked at Wormtail with an amused smirk. “And what would _that_ be, you pathetic little _coward_?”

“Y-y-you as-as-assume that I’d w-w-w- _want_ to l-l-live in jail…” Wormtail stated, a grim expression on his face as he turned to look directly at Lupin…

Then, much to the shock of all concerned parties, Wormtail lunged forward against the knife, wincing suddenly as the blade made contact with his throat, sending blood flying through the air like a fine red mist as he collapsed to the ground, Lestrange’s scream of rage and frustration filling the halls as she stared in shock at what Wormtail had just done…

Then, before she could come up with a new strategy, she suddenly felt multiple stunners strike her in the chest, and she was sent flying back into the wall behind her, unconscious.

“ _Peter_!” Lupin yelled in shock, diving down to the ground to crouch beside the last remaining other Marauder, looking in shock at the vicious gash along Wormtail’s throat. “But… but _why_?”

Wormtail couldn’t answer his old friend’s question- indeed, with his throat the way it was, it would have been impossible for him to say anything-, but, as he looked pathetically up at his old friend, his lips moved weakly, as though he was trying to say something.

_I’m sorry_ … Hermione vaguely noted as his lips moved before her.

Then he slumped to the ground, the last vestiges of life gone.

Staring solemnly at the sight before them, Ron finally broke the silence as he stared in confusion at the body of the man he’d once believed was only a rat.

“Why… why’d he _do_ that?” he said, looking in confusion at Lupin. “We’d not exactly given him a _reason_ to die for us…”

Lupin shrugged.

“Who can say how his mind was working by the end?” he said dejectedly, as he reached up with one hand to close his old friend’s eyes. “Maybe… in the end, he just wanted to do the right thing for _once_ in his life over the last few years.”

“Maybe…” Tonks mused, nodding slightly as she looked at the fallen traitor who’d just died for them.

She had to admit, Lupin’s explanation was as good a one as any for what Wormtail had done…

Then the faint sound of footsteps was heard from down another corridor, and the small group were forced to reevaluate their priorities; right now, survival sounded like it was once again going to be the order of the day.

_Oh,_ shit _…_ Ron mused to himself, as he turned to look down the corridor in time to see a mass of Death Eaters heading for them. _This is going to be_ ugly _…_

Still, as he glanced around and saw his assorted allies preparing to cast their first spells in the struggle, he knew one thing for certain.

No matter what happened in this fight, even if they _did_ die fighting these assholes, Ron knew without saying that _none_ of them would go down without a fight.

* * *

  
As he stared at the red-haired witch before him, her body tensed for combat as she pulled her wand and aimed it at him, Malfoy couldn’t help himself.He burst out laughing.

“You really think _I’m_ frightened of _you_?” he said, staring incredulously at Ginny as she stood before him, her wand aimed and ready to cast a spell that would begin their duel. “You’re a complete traitor to _everything_ decent in the wizarding world, whereas _I_ -”

“ _Reducto_ ,” Ginny stated grimly, aiming her wand at a point mere millimetres from Malfoy’s foot; if she’d wanted to, the spell could have easily punched a hole in his foot, if it didn’t actually sever the leg in question.

“Are you going to talk, or are you going to fight?” Ginny stated grimly as she raised her wand to point at Malfoy’s face once again. “I’m giving you a chance to put up a decent fight- which I realise is far more than your side normally gives _anybody_ \- but if you don’t stop bragging I’ll just stun you now and leave it at that.”

As Ginny finished speaking, Malfoy only took a moment to decide what he was going to do now; raising his wand, he launched a spell in Ginny’s direction, only for the young red-haired witch to duck the spell and launch her own one in his direction. Malfoy attempted to duck to one side, but before he had even moved a few inches to one side the spell hit the side of his face and he found small bats flying out of his nose. Malfoy quickly raised his wand to cancel out the earlier spell, but as soon as the bats had faded Ginny had charged up towards him and punched him in the face, sending him staggering back once more as he clutched at his now-black eye.

“ _BITCH_!” he roared, as he cast a wordless Reductor Curse in Ginny’s direction; fortunately, his injured eye meant that his aim was off by a few feet and he only hit the wall behind her. “ _You’ll PAY for that_!”

“Yeah, I’m _really_ scared of a man who hides behind his father’s money to get out of _every_ problem he’s ever faced in his life…” Ginny retorted as she rolled off to the side, leaving Malfoy staggering around as he clutched at his aching eye; she may have decided to give him a fair chance in a fight, but nobody said that she couldn’t’ insult him a bit in the process. “Tell me, was that the main reason you always made such an ass of yourself in school? You felt free to constantly insult and belittle everybody you wanted all because you _knew_ that Daddy would be there to bribe a few people in case you ever went just that little bit too far and ended up causing some actual _damage_?”

“Shut. UP!” Malfoy stated grimly, as he spun around to fire a spell at Ginny; even as he turned, however, Ginny had ducked into a nearby classroom, hurrying to the opposite end of the room and ducking to the ground underneath a desk as she studied the door.

“That’s why you couldn’t kill Dumbledore yourself in the end, wasn’t it?” Ginny continued, smirking as she watched Malfoy charge into the classroom, his wand raised as he looked angrily around at his surroundings. “You’d have actually had to do something _permanent_ to somebody… something that you knew full well _no_ amount of money could undo for you… and it _scared_ you. For the first time in your whole pathetic excuse of a life… you’d _have_ to deal with the _consequences_ of what you were doing.”

“You know _nothing_ about me, you _filthy blood-traitor_!” Malfoy roared, launching a spell at a desk on the opposite side of the room from where Ginny was currently hiding.

“Change the record, will you; that insult’s just getting _stupidly_ old!” Ginny retorted, taking advantage of Malfoy’s momentary distraction to crawl under a different desk. “Face facts, Malfoy; you’ll _never_ be a good Death Eater- hell, you’ll never even be a competent human being- because you don’t have the nerve to take the chance that you might _fail_ and have to cope with the _consequences_ of what you’ve done. At heart, for all your brag and bluster, you’re just an unimaginative, spoilt, pointlessly arrogant, ridiculously cocky… _coward_.”

“ _STOP INSULTING YOUR SUPERIORS_!” Malfoy practically screamed as he cast another spell, this one destroying a few desks rather than just the one he’d destroyed earlier.

“You’re _not_ my ‘superior’, Malfoy; you’re just a brain-dead idiot who doesn’t realise how ridiculous he sounds to everybody with half a brain in their heads,” Ginny stated grimly as she continued to crawl as fast as she could through the desks around the room. “The sooner you accept that you’re a total waste of space who would have been expelled from school _ages_ ago without his father’s money and the favouritism of ‘certain teachers’ to keep him out of trouble, the happier we’ll _all_ be…”

“ _ **SHUT UP!!!!**_ ” Malfoy screamed once again, aiming his wand to destroy even more nearby desks…

Only for Ginny to suddenly pop up behind him and lash out with a move she’d seen in one of those muggle movies Hermione had brought along to test her father’s attempts to modify a television (She believed the attack was called the ‘carrot chop’ or something like that). As soon as the blow had made contact with the back of his neck, Malfoy collapsed to the ground, letting out a brief yell of pain as he clutched at the back of his head.

“Now then,” Ginny continued, unable to stop a brief smile crossing her face as she pointed her wand at the back of her opponent’s head, moving her foot to cover the wand that had fallen from Malfoy’s hand after she’d made contact. “Care to give up _now_ , or does this really have to get _more_ unpleasant?”

For a moment, Ginny wasn’t ashamed to admit that a part of her hoped that he’d take up the challenge and actually try and keep fighting anyway.

Then, after a momentary ‘stand-off’, Malfoy’s shoulders slumped and he leant forward, placing his hands on the floor as he bowed his head.

“You win _this_ round…” he muttered grimly, as Ginny, her wand still pointed at his neck, crouched down briefly to pick up his own and slip it into her pocket. “But this changes _nothing_ ; the Dark Lord _will_ defeat Potter, and then you’ll be lucky if I show _any_ interest in having him spare your life. You don’t get any favours just because you’re a pure-blood, you know…”

“Malfoy, _what_ did I tell you about changing the bloody channel and stopping being so _repetitive_ all the time?” Ginny muttered, as she grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back to his feet, her wand still aimed at the back of his head; she would have tried a Body-Bind, but she didn’t want to leave Malfoy where he could be discovered, and he was too heavy for her to carry for a prolonged period of time even if she used a spell.

“Besides,” she added, a slight smile on her face as she forced Malfoy to walk out of the classroom door and back towards the great hall, “when it comes to Voldemort, Harry never really learned _how_ to lose against that bastard.”

Ginny just wished that she felt as confident about her boyfriend’s chances of victory as she sounded. She had faith in Harry, of course, but even with the power of the Mask against Voldemort’s long experience, it would still be a pretty close call no matter _how_ she looked at it…

She just had to hope that Harry- or Mark, or whatever he wanted to call himself- knew enough about his abilities in the Mask to triumph over Voldemort’s experience with just magic, no matter how close such a confrontation might be.

* * *

  
As soon as Mark had grabbed Voldemort’s robe, he didn’t hesitate; instantly, his arm retracted back to its normal length, dragging Voldemort towards him once again even as he launched a powerful punch at the face of the man before him. As the two of them began to roll down the cliff-face- which, fortunately, was relatively smooth compared to what it might have been. The occasional rock still scratched the two combatants as they fell down the cliff- Mark vaguely registered that it had begun to rain since he entered the castle, making it slightly harder to see Voldemort in the dark- but, amid the punches that the of them were currently exchanging- Voldemort being unable to pull out his wand, he had been forced to resort to just punching his adversary- the slight cuts barely registered…Than the two of them brutally struck a small ledge- if Mark hadn’t been wearing the mast, he had little doubt that he would have broken his back- and their descent halted, allowing Voldemort to scramble to his feet and pull out his wand as Mark casually got back up and took a quick assessment of their surroundings; a small ledge on the edge of the cliff, relatively solid without being overly thick, and large enough for the two men to fight it out without having anywhere to get away from the other guy.

In other words, it was small, private, and secluded, thus giving Mark the perfect opportunity to really let rip with his physical abilities without worrying too much about his friends getting caught in the crossfire; so long as he didn’t use anything _too_ powerful, he doubted he could have any effect on the castle itself.

Before Voldemort could launch a spell, Mark had lashed out at his foe with a powerful kick, barely even registering the slight pain in his leg as Voldemort ducked under the kick and he struck the wall with his foot. Attempting to take advantage of Mark’s momentary ‘distraction’, Voldemort tried to hit Mark with a spell, but Mark simultaneously removed his foot and struck out at his opponent, kicking Voldemort in the arm and nearly causing him to lose his wand.

“Fight _properly_ , damn you, Potter!” Voldemort roared, as he tried to raise his arm to cast another spell only for Mark to knock his arm away again.

“What, you mean fight like you?” Mark retorted, smiling casually at his opponent. “Well, that doesn’t seem to be doing _you_ much good; why should I try it?”

As Voldemort roared in frustration, actually trying to punch Mark as he did so, Mark, naturally, easily avoided the ‘attack’ by doing nothing more than ducking and stepping back a few feet while looking at the Dark Lord. “By the way, I really did prefer it when you called me ‘Harry’; it was always nice to know that at least _you_ always took me seriously enough to call me by my _name_ when we were forced to fight it out in our previous encounters, rather than just treating me like I was barely worth the effort…”

“The only think I take seriously about you is the fact that you are a _fool_ who is incapable of understanding _anything_ about the world we live in!” Voldemort roared, as he lashed out at Mark with another punch that actually managed to graze his opponent’s cheek, even if it didn’t leave a long-term injury. “You _cannot_ defeat what is _meant_ to be! Kill me, and another will rise; it is the _destiny_ of the wizarding world that it should be ruled by the pure!”

“Oh, get _over_ yourself; practically _nobody_ fucking _cares_ about blood any more!” Mark retorted, as he launched another series of punches at Voldemort with each word, slowing himself down just enough to give Voldemort a chance to strike back without giving him much of an opportunity to do any real damage. “Pretty much _all_ your followers are just there to get the chance to hurt people and feel like they’re better than _somebody_ rather getting constantly _humiliated_ by people! Besides, you’re hardly one to talk yourself; your father was a muggle and your mother was practically a squid who was constantly abused by her own _family_! Blood purity? If _I’m_ not ‘pure’, you’re so filthy not even a really good _Scourgify_ could clean you up!”

“SHUT UP!” Voldemort roared, as he finally managed to raise his wand in time to cast a brief, wordless spell; judging by the green light, Mark guessed that it was Avade Kedavra, but he couldn’t be sure, although it did leave one arm feeling numb where the spell grazed him.

“You see, _that’s_ what I’m talking about; you’re stuck in a loop, unable to get past a few stupid, outdated ideas that just don’t _work_ any more,” Mark said, looking with a broad grin at his nemesis before his expression became colder, grabbing the other man by the throat as he raised his fist to launch another punch. “Now then, care to give up _before_ this has to get ugly?”

“ _NEVER_!” Voldemort roared in rage. Before Mark could realise what Voldemort was doing, he felt a thin wooden rod in his side, just as Voldemort yelled out “ _REDUCTO_!”

Mark barely had any time to react; tapping into reflexes that would have made most comic-book speedsters seem slow, he dived to the side, simultaneously grabbing Voldemort by the shoulders and hurling him into the cliff-face. The impact forced Voldemort’s wand upwards just as the curse left the tip, sending multiple rocks flying up into the air before they began to hurtle down towards the combatants.

“Oh, _shit_ …” Mark whispered as he looked up at the sight above the ledge. “ _This_ isn’t good…”

He barely had any time to even transform into something else. Praying that his need to transform to utilise certain abilities was fundamentally more psychological that he believed, he raised his hands and generated a large blue circular force field, crouching down as he bit his lip and prayed that it would prove to be enough to deflect the worst of the rocks. As the first rocks struck the forcefield, he glanced up just in time to see Voldemort screaming in rage as the first rocks began to fall, raising his wand as though he as going to try and deflect the rocks with magic before they could actually hit _him_ , but then the resulting deluge of dust that accompanied the rocks forced Mark to close his eyes to escape being blinded.

_C’mon_ … _c’mon_ … Mark muttered to himself, staring in frustration at the sight before him, the forcefield he’d so hastily erected constantly shaking whenever something made contact with it. He wasn’t sure if it actually _could_ break, given that he was trying to focus all his power on reinforcing it whenever it was hit by something, but he’d rather not risk it. _Finish_ … _finish_ …

Then, just as he was starting to get worried, the last rock fell past the small ledge, and the dust faded, leaving Mark with a sight in front of him that prompted a broad grin as he stood up.

There, almost directly in front of him, was Voldemort, now lying on the ground, one leg pinned underneath a particularly large boulder as he glared in rage and frustration at Mark as the young wizard stood nonchalantly before him, unmarked and unharmed from the recent ‘attack’. Mark wasn’t a medical expert, but judging by the size of that rock on Voldemort’s leg, he strongly doubted that the ‘Dark Lord’ would be in any kind of position to be used for walking even if the rock _hadn’t_ been holding it down.

“Well well _well_ …” Mark said, chuckling slightly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ridiculously large gun- so large that it would never have fit in _any_ kind of pocket if he wasn’t wearing the Mask- and aimed it at Voldemort’s head nonchalantly. “Looks like the boot’s on the other foot _this_ time around…”

Then, as he stood over the fallen body of his foe, the gun in his hand pressed against Voldemort’s forehead, Mark paused, his voice trailing off as he tilted his head to one side and looked in a reflective manner at his long-time adversary, as though he was thinking about something.

As Voldemort looked at him in confusion, Mark began to shift between various forms, ranging from a man clad in a simple black suit holding a long green blade, a man in a tattered red-and-blue fully-body costume with one fist drawn back as though about to strike, a man clad in battered armour with a sword aimed at the Dark Lord’s throat, a figure in dark red leather holding a large stick that seemed ready to crush his foe’s skull, a middle-aged man dressed in a traditional cowboy outfit aiming a gun at Voldemort’s forehead, a man dressed in a bat-like costume with two small bat-like objects in his hand…

But, no matter what his appearance was right now, one thing remained the same; Mark was always carrying a weapon, and holding it in a position where he could easily end Voldemort’s life with the slightest movement, but he wasn’t actually _using_ it to deliver the final blow.

After a moment’s pause, during which time Mark remained dressed in the costume that Voldemort vaguely recognised from his time in the muggle world as some deluded fictional ‘hero’ known as ‘Batman’- why so many of his muggle victims’ children seemed to like the concept of a man dressing up as a giant bat Voldemort could never understand-, the green-headed man stood back, a cold expression in his eyes as he glared at Voldemort.

“Well?” Voldemort retorted, as he stared harshly at the man before him. “Aren’t you going to finish it? Just kill me already!”

“ _No_ ,” Mark stated as he stared back at his foe.

Voldemort blinked in surprise.

“ _What_?” he said, looking at the man standing before him as though he’d lost all sense.

“I said _no_ ,” Mark repeated, folding his arms as he stared at the man before him. “It may be the ‘practical’ thing to do, but if I kill you now, when you can’t even _try_ to fight back against me… when you can’t even reach a wand… when you can’t even run away…”

He shook his head, a revolted expression on his face as he contemplated the mere idea of doing that. “How am I any different from you if I kill somebody who doesn’t even have a chance at _trying_ to prevent it?”

Despite the dire situation he was in, Voldemort then began to laugh.

“You _fool_ …” he said, as he glared at what Harry Potter had become with a wild gleam in his eyes. “If you don’t kill me _now_ … my followers will come for me… you shall _die_ before them… I shall kill your friends… I shall destroy all who _dared_ to get to know you…”

Mark smirked.

“No, you’re not,” he said simply.

Voldemort blinked.

“Look at the cliff, _Tom_ ,” Mark stated, indicating the area where the ledge they were currently standing on joined up to the main cliff-face.

Now that Voldemort looked at it, there _was_ a large crack where the ledge joined the main rock…

His eyes widened in horror at the implications.

The ledge clearly wasn’t all that thick, and hence wasn’t that securely attached to the cliff; after the force that it had been subjected to when Voldemort and Mark initially crashed into it, it was nothing short of a miracle that the ledge had remained intact after all the blows that the two men had exchanged so far.

And, judging by the rate that the crack on the ledge was growing, the force it had been subjected to when all those rocks hit it meant that it was unlikely to hold on for much longer…

“I won’t _kill_ you,” Mark stated, as he reached to his belt, raising a small, gun-like device above his head as he stared at the man who’d ruined his life long ago. “But, given the time frame we’re facing right now, and the fact that it would take too long for me to lift that rock off you, I don’t think there’s a single rule in any book that states that I have to _save_ you.”

With that, he fired a grappling hook from the ‘gun’ in his hand, launching himself up into the air with a powerful kick from his feet…

The same kick, Voldemort noted with horror, serving as the last bit of pressure that was required to completely dislodge the small ledge from the edge of the cliff.

“NO!” he screamed as he began to fall towards the sea below him. As the rocks that had pinned his legs down came loose, Voldemort frantically scrambled purchase on the cliff face before him, but this close to the sea itself, coupled with the rocks that were still falling towards him, it was so difficult getting a grip that he might as well not have even bothered.

“NNNNNOOOOoooo….!” Voldemort screamed, a roar of defiance and outrage to the world that would allow him, the greatest wizard who had ever lived, to die in a simple fall like any common man…

Then, as he struck the rocks below, there was a loud snap as his neck broke, a faint gleam of black ‘energy’ burst from his arm, and, as he flew upwards, Mark suddenly found himself surrounded by a wave of dark energy that had the potential to make him lose his grip from shock if he hadn’t been partially expecting it.

_Huh_ , he thought to himself, as his cape absorbed some of the ‘explosion’ and used it to ride the rest of the way upwards, that _was unexpected_.

Then he ‘sensed’- how exactly he managed it, he couldn’t be sure, but he was prepared to bet that the Mask had something to do with it- the ‘contents’ of the magical ‘wave’, and smiled grimly as he ‘outran’ it, aided by both the grapple and the cape.

Unless he was much mistaken, it ‘felt’ like the Death Eaters were about to get a _very_ unpleasant ‘message’ to alert them to Voldemort’s death…


	25. The End of an Era

Not even Hermione, with everything she’d read about the charms that Voldemort must have used to create the Dark Mark, could be entirely certain what caused the events they witnessed. One minute the four of them were facing a miniature army of Death Eaters, with the chances of coming out alive from this fight, with no likely hope of back-up and facing significantly superior numbers, being low to say the least…

The next, every single Death Eater had suddenly dropped to the ground, screaming in pain as they suddenly clutched at their arms, and Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise as she stared at her surroundings.

She almost wasn’t sure whether she should be scared or relieved at this sudden turn events. On the one hand, the Death Eaters being out of the fight was definitely _good_ news, but on the other hand…

“What the hell is _this_ all about?” Ron asked, staring in confusion at the Death Eaters around them. “Did somebody manage to hit them _all_ with a spell or something?”

“No… I somehow doubt it’s anything _that_ straightforward…” Lupin muttered, his eyes narrowing as he studied the Death Eaters, before a broad grin spread across his face as he noticed something about one of the nearest Death Eaters, currently clutching at his arm as he lay on the ground. “Ah, _that_ might explain it.”

“What?” Tonks asked, looking over at the werewolf in confusion. “What might explain it?”

“Unless I’m much mistaken, the source of the pain currently being felt by the Death Eaters appears to be… the Dark Mark itself?” Lupin muttered, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he turned to look back at his friends. “It’s as though the Mark has… well, _attacked_ them…”

“What?” Hermione said, walking over to examine the injury with Lupin. She had to admit, it did _look_ like the source of the sudden pain that the Death Eaters had just experienced was the location of the Dark Mark…

_But what could_ cause _something like that?_ Hermione mused to herself, as she studied the arm in question. She wasn’t a medical expert by any means, but it was rapidly beginning to look like the arm that had the Mark on it was… well, ‘decomposing’ was the best term she could come up with, even if it was more than a _slight_ exaggeration of the arm’s condition.

Then it came to her.

It was just like she’d read in a detective story once; the simplest explanation is most often the correct one.

Voldemort would have wanted to _guarantee_ that his followers would remain loyal to him; what better way to do that than to have them ‘branded’ with a mark that would do something like _this_ to them in the event of any of them turning on him. Any Death Eater who dared to turn traitor may manage to figure out a way to kill him, but they’d be left with one arm as good as dead and practically everyone else whose loyalty they may have counted on in a similar condition.

It was a harsh precaution to take against people who were ‘meant’ to be his allies, but definitely one that fit Voldemort’s familiar pattern of never trusting _anybody_ but himself.

“Oh my God…” Hermione whispered as she stared at the Death Eaters lying around them, all of them clutching their suddenly crippled arms in agony, as the implications of this new twist came to her. “But then…”

“What?” Lupin said, looking curiously at Hermione as she spoke. “Is something wrong?”

“Get everyone together and get to the Great Hall,” Hermione said, looking anxiously at her former teacher. “It might be nothing, but I’d prefer to _know_ he’s all right rather than just assume it.”

“Know who’s- wait a minute,” Tonks said, inspiration dawning in her eyes as she looked at the damaged arms of the Death Eaters. “Are you saying…?”

“Precisely,” Hermione said, a small smile on her face as she looked at the older woman. “I _think_ we’re seeing what happens to Death Eaters when the source of the Dark Mark is killed.”

Then the smile faded to be replaced by the anxiety she felt at the prospect. “And if that’s the case… well, I think we all _need_ to see what’s happened to Harry as a result.”

For a moment, there was silence as Lupin and Tonks looked anxiously at each other; Hermione was just grateful that she and Ron hadn’t told anybody yet about the Mask and Voldemort’s recent acquisition of it, or their friends would probably be even _more_ worried than they were at present.

“Agreed,” Lupin said finally, looking in confirmation at his two former students. “If Harry _has_ defeated Voldemort, I, for one, _definitely_ want to know how he pulled it off.”

As the four of them began to head towards the Great Hall, Hermione could only spare a brief moment to hope for two things; that Ginny was all right, and that, if Harry _had_ found some way to deal with Voldemort despite the power of the Mask, he’d found some way of getting rid of the Mask afterwards. She trusted Lupin and Tonks, true, but she, like Harry, didn’t want anybody knowing about the Mask if they didn’t _have_ to know about it; it was too powerful to risk _anybody_ else knowing about it.

* * *

  
No sooner had Ginny begun to wonder whether Mark actually _could_ triumph this time around, mentally weighing up the odds in a confrontation between Voldemort’s experience and the raw power Harry possessed with the Mask, then Malfoy suddenly collapsed to the ground, screaming in rage as he clutched at his suddenly-glowing left arm, in approximately the area where Ginny recalled the Dark Mark was meant to be located…Despite her initial shock at the sudden scream, Ginny sighed in relief (It may have been a cold-blooded attitude to have, but, as far as she was concerned, Malfoy being in pain was no more than he deserved for the path he’d chosen to take in his life).

If the Dark Mark was causing this kind of damage to Malfoy, she somehow doubted that it was for a ‘good’ reason (Good by Voldemort’s definition, of course; generally any purpose the Mark had been designed for could never be described as ‘good’ by anybody who wasn’t a Death Eater). The so-called ‘Dark Lord’ may use that thing to let Death Eaters know they were wanted somewhere, but she strongly doubted it caused this much pain when it was doing that.

Whatever the reason, Ginny was going to find out _now_ what was going on inside the Great Hall… which meant, unfortunately for Malfoy, that he wasn’t going to be awake for much longer to be given any chance to escape.

“Sorry Malfoy; looks like you’ll be spending your last few hours of freedom unconscious,” she said grimly, as she raised her wand to point it directly at her captive's head. “ _Stupefy_!”

As soon as Malfoy had collapsed to the floor- accompanied by a slight crunching sound and a sudden spurt of blood on the stones that made it clear to Ginny that he’d broken his nose when he landed, not that she cared- Ginny raised her wand in preparation for whatever she might encounter and hurried back to the Great Hall, grateful that her fight with Malfoy hadn’t taken her that far away from her starting point.

As she entered the Great Hall, Ginny couldn’t stop a relieved grin from spreading across her face as she took in the sight before her; Mark Tiller, dressed in a dark costume that she vaguely recognised from muggle movie posters as a popular muggle character known as ‘Batman’, standing in front of a large hole in the wall, staring grimly down at the sea below the castle.

“It’s over…” he said, apparently not even fully registering her presence; he seemed to be talking to himself.

“Ha- Mar- sorry, what would you prefer me to call you?” Ginny said, looking uncertainly at the green-headed man before her as she walked towards him, even as he turned to look inquiringly over at her, a slight smile on his face as he realised the identity of the new arrival.

“It’s ‘Mark’ when I’m like this, Ginny,” he said casually, smiling slightly at her as he indicated his green-skinned head before his face became more serious. “It’s over; Voldemort… well, long story short, he fell through there during our fight, and I… let him.”

“Ah,” Ginny said, walking over to lean briefly out of the hole, only to wince and step back as she took in the sheer depth of the drop before her; she wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to know how far down it was to the bottom…

“Ginny…” Mark began, looking uncertainly at her as he indicated his face, “I was wondering… now that Voldemort’s been dealt with… who would you rather _have_ me as?”

“Have you as?” Ginny repeated, looking in confusion at Mark.

“What I mean is, would you prefer me as Mark… or as Harry?” he continued, looking uncertainly at her. “There’s probably some charm or another out there that could allow me to remain like this twenty-four seven, so the limitation of it only working at night wouldn’t be that much of a long-term issue… I’ll look into it later, but all I want to know right now is simple; who would you _rather_ have? Mark, or Harry?”

“Who would _I_ rather have?” Ginny said, looking incredulously at Mark. “Mark- Harry- whoever you are- shouldn’t that be something _you_ should decide? I mean, you’re talking about potentially becoming a totally different person for the rest of your _life_ -”

“No; I’d be a different _aspect_ of the same _personality_ ,” Mark corrected as he looked at her. “The Mask doesn’t _create_ a personality for the wearer, Ginny; it just brings out what’s already there and doesn’t get a chance to be expressed normally. I wouldn’t _stop_ being Harry or Mark if I became the other; I’d just be letting a certain part of me have more control than the other part. All I’m asking is… which aspect do you prefer?”

As she stood there, contemplating the man who was willing to leave such a powerful decision about his future in her hands, Ginny couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed.

Harry/Mark/whatever was going to decide what kind of _person_ he’d be on a full-time basis… based on what _she_ wanted him to be?

Even putting aside how overwhelming that kind of responsibility was, she still wasn’t sure what ‘side’ of him she preferred.

They both possessed that same natural heroism that had first drawn her to Harry in the first place- no matter how powerful he was, Harry was always willing to risk death to save the people he loved- but Mark was far more confident when he was doing it, while Harry was constantly second-guessing himself every time he made a major decision of some kind; Mark was prepared to be more impulsive and forward during their private time together while Harry sometimes acted like he thought she was going to kick him out of her life at any minute…

Ginny sighed.

In the end, there was only one decision she could make.

“Mark…” she said, as she looked back up at the green-headed figure who’d come so suddenly into her life at her brother’s wedding, “it’s been… a _unique_ experience to know you… and I’ve felt… something… for you since I met you… but…”

“But?” Mark inquired, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her.

“But…” Ginny said, sighing as she looked back at Mark, a small smile on her face. “In the end, I’d rather have the fundamentally-flawed-but-nevertheless-endearing Harry Potter, than the remarkably-confident-and-self-assured Mark Tiller. No offence, but at times you _can_ be a bit… _overwhelming_.”

“Ah,” Mark said, nodding slightly, a small smile on his face as he glanced down at his outfit. “The powers, huh?”

“Well, I was _actually_ thinking about your rather ‘in-your-face’ attitude- no offence meant; I just prefer my boyfriends to be a bit more ‘relaxed’ than you can be at times- when I said that, but that one works too,” Ginny said, smiling awkwardly at Mark before the smile faded as she looked awkwardly at the man who was an aspect of the person she’d loved practically since the moment she’d learned who he was after seeing him on Platform Nine and Three Quarters when she was only ten.

It was never going to be an easy life with the man behind that mask, but Ginny was looking forward to it nevertheless.

“Well then…” Mark said, smiling affectionately at her, “I guess… this is goodbye from _me_ , mmm?”

Reaching out, he placed a hand on Ginny’s cheek, smiling softly at her as he leaned over to kiss her briefly on the forehead.

“Goodbye,” he said simply, as he stepped back. “Treat Harry well, OK? He loves you… more than even _he_ knows.”

With that, Mark reached up to the back of his head, there was a brief whirl of green energy, and then Harry Potter was once again standing before her, smiling slightly at her as he held the Mask in his hands.

“Hey,” he said simply, as he walked to take her in his arms. “Thanks… for being you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ginny replied, smiling at him as she leaned in to kiss him once more…

“ _Harry_!” a voice yelled from the door to the hall, prompting the two of them to break apart as they looked in surprise at the direction of the yell, just in time to see Hermione standing there and looking anxious at them. “Are you all right?”

“Uh… why _wouldn’t_ I be?” Harry asked, slipping the Mask behind his back as he looked briefly at Ginny; he could see Lupin and Tonks behind Hermione, and, as much as he trusted them, he wasn’t willing to let any more people know about the Mask than he had to.

If nothing else, there was always the chance that some people in the Ministry of Magic _might_ take offence to what Mark had done to Fudge and Umbridge last week…

“Uh… what _happened_ in here?” Tonks asked, looking in confusion between Harry, Ginny, and the large hole in the wall behind them. “It looks like there’s been a bit of a war in here…”

“Voldemort and I had a few differences about how things should go from here,” Harry stated simply. “He saw himself as the ‘ultimate power’ on the planet; I saw him as a git who needed to be dealt with.”

Shrugging slightly, he jerked his thumb towards the hole behind him, a part of him noting that at least the rain and wind from the storm that had been raging outside had now ended; it would make what he had to do soon easier. “He’s somewhere down there; he fell through the hole when he tried to knock me down the cliff, and… well, to say things didn’t do _quite_ how he wanted them to would be an understatement.”

“Hold on a minute; he _fell_ through a _hole_ in the _wall_?” Tonks spluttered, looking at Harry as though trying to figure out if he was joking or not. “You’re telling you took out the man who was potentially the most powerful Dark Wizard who’s ever _lived_ … by making him _fall_ through a _hole_ in a _wall_?”

“It _is_ a big hole,” Harry said, indicating the hole behind him once more, a small smile on his face as he glanced over at his friends. Judging by the way Ron and Hermione kept glancing at the hand he was discreetly holding behind his back, it was pretty clear that both of them had guessed how he’d dealt with his opponent, but weren’t going to tell anybody unless he wanted them to. “Sometimes, the simple solutions are the best ones.”

Lupin opened his mouth as though to ask another question, but Harry held up his own hand to stop his old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. “Look, Remus, I’ll tell you what I can about that later; right now, I’d just like to… check on something… with Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and then I’ll be available to answer any questions you or anybody else has for me.”

For a moment, Lupin looked as though he was going to insist that Harry remained behind to answer his questions, regardless of what the young man _wanted_ to do…

But, for reasons Harry didn’t waste time questioning- maybe Lupin just thought that, after all that Harry had done for the wizarding world by killing Voldemort, he deserved a little time to himself before answering any questions-, the werewolf just nodded briefly at him, a small smile on his face as he looked at the young man who’d just saved the world.

“OK; just don’t take too long, understand?” he said, looking critically at Harry.

“Check,” Harry said, nodding in confirmation as he turned to look at his friends. “C’mon guys, let’s go; I’ve got… business to attend to.”

Trying to ignore the inquiring looks coming from Tonks- unlike Lupin, she clearly wasn’t _entirely_ prepared to let Harry go just like that, even if she trusted his judgement- Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione walked out of the Great Hall that had just witnessed the end of one of the most dangerous dark wizards ever to live.

There was still one last task that had to be accomplished.

One last thing that Harry felt he _had_ to do if he was going to end this chapter of his life once and for all.

* * *

  
About half an hour later, after spending some time wandering along the coast and discussing what had recently taken place in the building that had so defined their lives over the last few years, the four teenagers arrived at a cliff about a mile or so down from the castle. Hermione would have preferred to stay close to the castle, but Harry had insisted that here was the best location; he didn’t want to attract too much attention, and doing this too close to Hogwarts would _definitely_ draw somebody’s interest.“You’re sure you want to do this, Harry?” Hermione asked, looking curiously at her friend.

Studying the Mask in his hand, Harry smiled slightly as he raised his other hand to briefly touch the wooden object in front of him, before nodding in resolution as he looked back at his old friend.

“I’m sure,” he said simply as he looked back at her. “You said it yourself, Hermione; it’s too powerful for me to keep. I have to get rid of it now before anyone else finds out about it.”

“Agreed,” Hermione said, nodding in approval at her friend. “You just do what you have to do; we’ll wait.”

With that said, Harry turned around and walked over to the cliff edge, followed closely by Ginny; Ron and Hermione, sensing that this was something their friends wanted to do alone, hung back slightly to give them some privacy.

As he reached the cliff-edge, Harry glanced briefly at the Mask before he turned to face Ginny, holding the Mask up slightly as he looked curiously at her.

“How about you?” he asked, indicating the wooden artefact in his hand. “Sure you’re not going to miss this guy? Once Mark Tiller’s gone, all that’s left is Harry Potter, an emotionally awkward teenager, with a _ton_ of self-worth issues and all kinds of personal baggage that you’d need to put up with if we’re going to have _any_ kind of a life together.”

A small smile spreading across her face, Ginny reached over to take the Mask from Harry, looking thoughtfully at it for a moment before she looked back at the young man she loved.

“And you know what?” she said, as she smiled broadly at Harry, raising the mask in front of her as she spoke. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

With that, she casually tossed the Mask over her shoulder, grabbed Harry’s head, and pulled him towards her for a deep, passionate kiss, Harry’s arms almost instinctively coming up to hold her close to him as the kiss continued.

Neither of them even noticed as Ron moved past them to look over the cliff, his eyes widening slightly as he saw where the Mask had landed and was currently drifting out to sea. Raising his wand, Ron briefly looked as though he was about to summon the Mask to him, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder moments before he was yanked backwards by a stern-looking Hermione.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she said grimly, as she stared at her boyfriend. “It’s gone; leave it at that.”

“What?” Ron said, looking in confusion at his girlfriend. “C’mon, ‘Mione, can you honestly say you’re not even a _bit_ tempted by the idea of-”

Hermione didn’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence; grabbing Ron’s head, she yanked him down towards her and planted a kiss squarely on his lips, halting his words as she wrapped her arms around him, smiling slightly into the kiss as Ron began to kiss her back.

Pulling back, Hermione raised a critical eyebrow as she looked with amusement at the suddenly dazed expression on Ron’s face.

“You were saying?” she asked nonchalantly.

Ron blinked briefly before he stared back at her, a jokingly quizzical expression on his face.

“Sorry; were we talking?” he asked casually.

“Good answer,” Hermione said, as she pulled him close to her for another deep kiss.

Parting briefly from their own kiss to look over at their friends and (In Ginny’s case) brother, Harry and Ginny grinned broadly at the sight before them.

“As an old ‘friend’ of ours once said…” Harry said, grinning as he looked at his snogging best friends. “Sssss-MOKIN’!”

“Indubitably, my dear Mr Potter,” Ginny said, taking his chin in her hands as she turned him back to face him. “Now then, in the words of a muggle actress whose name presently eludes me, ‘Shut up and kiss me, you fool’!”

“Of course,” Harry chuckled, as he leaned in to kiss Ginny once more…

Only to pause as he seemingly noticed something in her eyes.

“Huh?” he said, stepping back to push back the hair on his forehead as he stared in surprise at his appearance, reflected in Ginny’s confused eyes. “Is that…?”

“Harry?” Ginny asked, looking in confusion at her boyfriend. “What…?”

Then they both saw it, prompting a small smile from Harry and a look of wide-eyed astonishment from Ginny.

Harry may look the same as he ever had, but there was now one crucial difference between his appearance now and his appearance the previous night.

His forehead no longer had a scar.


End file.
